


After the Thaw

by OfPitsandPugs



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Real World, Alternate Universe - Star Wars Setting, Badass Rey, Ben Solo Needs A Hug, Eventual Smut, F/M, Forbidden Love, Kylo Ren and Rey Are Not Related, Love Triangles, Multi, Other, Poe Dameron Hurts So Prettily, Post-Apocalypse, Post-Nuclear War, Resistance, Slow Burn, Smut, Survival, Wilderness Survival, Young Ben Solo, dark and grim, philosophical discussions of human nature
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-06-22 19:00:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15588576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OfPitsandPugs/pseuds/OfPitsandPugs
Summary: The Thaw lasted all of two days before Earth's major cities were reduced to rubble. Now humanity struggles to adjust to life in a post-fallout world, where even the most basic of needs become luxuries. A ragged band of resistance fighters in the Pacific Northwest vow to bring down their foreign overlords and the traitors who betrayed their own race, but the secrets behind the curtain are greater than they could have imagined.AU, but strong parallel references. Poe/Rey/Kylo love triangle.





	1. We're Still Human

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I'm new to AoO, but I've been posting on FF.net for easily a decade. I go by Manwathiel over there, so don't be alarmed if you managed to stumble across both accounts. :)
> 
> This story literally came to me in a dream, one of those where you wish you could go back to sleep and keep having it, and I knew I had to write it. Short chapter to start, but others will be longer.
> 
> AU, but still science-fiction and strong parallels to the new trilogy's plot throughout. Kylo/Rey and Poe/Rey. Rated M for sensitive themes, discussions of the nature of humanity, violence, and tasteful smut.

**.001 We're Still Human**

A.T. 7  
Siuslaw National Forest, Oregon Coast, U.S.A.

The grey-blue sea beat itself against jagged outcroppings of unforgiving rock, sprinkling the air with glittering, silver mist that sank through flesh to the bone. The wind tasted and smelled of salt, and it was heavy with the warnings of an approaching storm. Overhead, gulls hung in place and cawed in defiance of everything gravity wanted them to do. All over the treacherous shoreline, the water found cracks and holes in the rock, created from centuries upon centuries of a relentless ocean, and shot up towards the sky like geysers. Night loomed, and the colors of sunset were suffocated by dense fog and clouds, and within every shadow was danger.

In the distance there was a tiny blip on the landscape that didn't belong: a tall, gangly girl crouched down beside a tidepool. She used her cracked nails to scrape out scraggly plantlife, which she deposited in an old paint bucket, and she studied the tiny fish and crustaceans that had become trapped there. The real prizes, however, were the clams, and there were plenty, but none were good for eating. Too many showed signs of mutation and it turned the smarter scavengers off from taking a chance on any of them. Clams had a far more valuable purpose than food anyway.

A seagull landed on the opposite side of the pool and turned its head to look down at the milky white shrimp crawling around the bottom of the pool. It squawked and tried to figure out its new puzzle.

For a brief second, the roar of the ocean was blocked out by the single blast of a gun. The seagull collapsed before it ever had the chance to take flight. A feather wafted to the water's surface and one of the shrimp investigated it with its antennae. The tall, gangly girl fished the used shell out of the tidepool and pocketed it.

Grabbing the bird, mangled from a shot so close, the girl moved onto the next pool.

And such was the life in the forests of Siuslaw. At one time it was the perfect family retreat with hiking trails, adorable little cabins, and beach combing, and now the hiking trails were overgrown, the adorable little cabins had shattered windows and busted-in doors, and beach combing was how you survived.

The girl moved over the slippery shore with practiced ease. Her canvas boots protected her feet from the rocks that were like razors, but they were well worn and soaked through, and the shoelaces didn't match. They did nothing to keep her warm. Beyond that, she wore tight jeans that were once white but now stained a yellowish brown, and a baggy grey sweater that hung to mid-thigh, and the sleeves had been rolled up to her elbows. It looked a little newer than the rest of her clothing. Her skin, at one time warm and sunkissed and freckled, was pale and ghostly from a life of hardship. Brown hair was twisted into a messy bun that had fallen to the base of her neck and stray pieces had come loose and framed her soft face, but her hazel eyes were sharp and calculating and  _ready_.

There was a small, blue backpack that had been used as an artist's canvas sitting atop a rock. Beside it was a walking stick and another paint can filled with water. The girl threaded her arms through the straps of the backpack, balanced the cans on either end of the stick, and set it over her shoulders. Tired and displeased, she crossed the shore and disappeared into the forest. Combing had not gone well today, but at least there would be protein that was marginally safe.

Her home was a few miles in, hidden among dense undergrowth that whispered memories of a prehistoric time. She stopped at a stream to refill a canteen from her backpack, but didn't drink it, and continued on.

A rundown collection of tents and plastic tarps, stretched across giant boughs, appeared out of nowhere like the sails of a ship in the dark. There were a handful of people there, all working on something, but none looked up as the girl made her way between the tents. She stopped beneath a black tarp where there was a large fire licking at the underside of a tall pot. She handed the mutilated seagull to a man stoking the flames, then left without a word.

The next stop was a shed, the only permanent building in the camp. There she left both paint cans by the door, knocked, and again turned away.

Finally, she entered a tent that was strung over a rope between two trees. It was sparsely appointed, with only a large bedroll and a few blankets, a lantern, a locked box, and another two changes of clothes. There were no personal items of note. After stripping off her wet clothes and hanging them over the rope, she curled up under the blankets and shut her eyes. Time to rest and warm up.

The girl was awoken only an hour later when a warm body slid in beside her. Large hands found her waist, and her own found a smooth chest where she could feel the steady heartbeat of her lover. The man smelled like rainwater and peat, but then they all did nowadays, though his scent was uniquely him somehow. Perhaps it was the mingling of their scents together that made it special. The man tucked his nose beneath her chin and took a deep breath, indulging in her scent as she did his, and then pressed a kiss to her throat. She hummed in appreciation. He rubbed his thumb in a small circle over the point of her hip bone, and she appreciated that as well.

The kiss moved from her neck to her lips, and she tangled her fingers in the dark mass of his hair, slick and tangled from the rain. They both drew breath together and gazed into one another's dark eyes. His asked a question he already knew the answer to, but she gave one to him anyway.

"No," She murmured, and her voice was sad.

"Why not?"

"It's not safe."

"You won't get pregnant."

"You don't know that."

They kissed each other again. This wasn't a new conversation. The first time it was spoken, there had been conflict, but now it was as routine as saying goodnight. A daily reminder of how life had changed beyond recognition, how even the most base of needs had become a luxury. To make up for the cruelties of fate, the girl instead satisfied him with her mouth around him, and he repaid the favor with his fingers between her legs. It was a poor substitute, but it helped them forget, just for a while, what had been left behind.

After they had finished, both settled back in close to each other for warmth. He idly twirled her hair around his finger.

"Rey."

"Yea?"

"We're still human, right?"

The girl opened her eyes and nodded once, and like the night before and every night before that, she said, "We're still human."

"Okay. I love you."

"I love you, too."

And then, finally, they slept.


	2. Peacocks Among Turkeys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm hoping to keep a regular updating pattern, one or two chapters a week. We'll see!

**.002 Peacocks Among Turkeys**

B.T. October 14, 2151  
Moapa Valley, Nevada, U.S.A.

Long, bare legs tore across the ground, grinding sand and gravel beneath well-loved boots that gripped and propelled the girl forward. Shoulders straight and determined, she sucked in huge gulps of oxygen through rounded lips, setting a steady pace of in and out, breath after breath filling her lungs. The air was hot and dry, but it kept the burn alive.

Jeering laughter from behind, the cruel sound of malicious children, didn't perturb her. It instead fueled her, giving her sprint purpose. Then something whistled and went screaming past, then exploded far ahead. A bottle rocket.

She could outrun monsters, but probably not bottle rockets. She willed her legs to move faster anyway, even as hope of escape faded.

Another rocket whizzed past, then another, and finally one tore past her arm and burned her bare skin. She cried out in pain, but didn't falter, until a second hit behind her knee. The girl stumbled and fell, face and arms skidding along the rocky ground. She could feel tiny stones tear away skin and rip angry lines in her flesh.

Then the pack of boys was on her.

"Get her!" They roared in vicious joy, and took turns grabbing at her hair and kicking dust in her eyes. Wild and cornered, the girl fought back, jumping to her feet whenever she had the chance to throw a punch here and there, but she was small and skinny, and they were big and strong. Eventually it took all she had to stay curled into a tight ball, arms over her head for protection, as they beat her for their own sadistic pleasure.

It wasn't until her cries fell silent and she retreated into her own head did they grow bored with their plaything. They each got their last kick in, one of which almost certainly bruised a rib, and then they finally left, patting each other on the back in congratulations. The girl stayed silent, listening, and only when their voices had died away did she look up.

Her clothes, already old and ratty, were torn in places now from being pulled, her dull brown hair matted with dirt, and there was a trickle of blood trailing from the corner of her mouth and over her chin. She wiped that away with the back of her hand and sat up.

Another day.

The burns across her arm and knee hurt and would for a while, but she had gotten what she needed from the town. She wouldn't need to go back for at least another week or so. Standing, she brushed herself off and shrugged on her blue backpack, which they had fortunately not touched this time other than to throw it aside.

"Hey."

The girled whirled around, legs spread wide in a defensive position, and she quickly sized up the new threat. One of the boys. One alone wasn't so bad, she could take him if he attacked. She had seen him a couple times - he wasn't always with the gang - and she knew him as the least cruel of the bunch. A black kid, maybe a couple years older than her, and he already had the body of a man, but his eyes were young. In another place, another time, she might have even characterized him as being good looking, but in this universe, he was just one of  _them_.

"Go away," She spat.

"Rey, I just-"

" _No_ ," She thrust her finger at him, "You do  _not_  get to beat the shit out of me and then use my name."

The boy raised his hands in surrender, "Alright, alright. I just wanted to say I'm sorry."

Rey scoffed at him and bounced her backpack up to tighten the straps. "You're sorry, really? If you were sorry, you'd tell you friends to leave me alone."

"I have," He insisted, "But they don't listen to me."

"Some friends."

The girl turned to leave.

"Wait, Rey. I want to help."

"If I needed help, you are the last person I would ask."

She started walking, her steps long and quick, but the boy kept jogging after her.

"Wait, please. You're hurt."

Rey whirled around again and found him just a few feet away from her. He had to stop short to keep from plowing into her. "Yea, I am," She hissed, "I wonder how that happened?"

"Let me take you to the doctor, get patched up."

The boy stumbled back when she suddenly shoved him, then immediately closed the gap between them to get in his face. " _Look_ , kid, I don't even know your name-"

"FN-21- I mean, Finn. Sorry, that's our code name."

Rey rolled her eyes. "I don't care about your stupid gang name. All I want is for  _you_  to go and for your friends to leave me alone. I'm not stealing, I'm not hurting anything, and I don't talk to anyone I don't have to."

"I know, but… listen, Rey…" He took her hand and she immediately yanked it back, horrified that he had touched her.

"No! I'm not listening to you. Goodbye!"

Ignoring his protests, Rey turned on one foot and stalked off into the unforgiving sand and stone of the Mojave.

**IOIOIOI**

Rey drew a heavy woven blanket over her shoulders and let it pool around her lap. It was a bit rough and scratchy, but it was warm and it smelled of burning wood and the comforts of home. Passed down from generation to generation, it had become threadbare in some places and the colors had faded, but the patterns were still there: black diamonds on a crimson red canvas, highlighted by zigzagging white and yellow stripes. The girl drew a corner of the blanket to her nose and inhaled deeply.

Moments like these were the only time the girl felt truly at peace. Her home wasn't much - more like a glorified shed - but there was a roof and potable water nearby, and it was near enough to the town that she could get food and be home by the end of the day without bothering anyone. Above all, though, what she loved most was that it was the only place in the world where you could walk forever and ever and never once come close to finding the line of the horizon.

There was one, of course, but here, in the valley, there was nothing but you, the earth, and the skies above. Every night, she would lay out on the ground and stare up at the stars, wondering how many there were and how many humanity would visit, and if she would ever see them herself. She had taught herself all their names - the ones she could see - and then for many of them she could list their planets and some of the beings that lived there. Rey wasn't especially well educated, but there was nothing she knew better than the sky because, no matter what anyone else said, she was meant to  _fly_.

This night, however, was different. The data pad in Rey's hands glitched, but that was nothing new. She shook it a few times and the screen returned. It was an antique model, significantly outdated now, but it still worked and she got a few news stations and talk shows, plus a few download options, that were usually enough to get through the doldrums. In most cases it went untouched in her shed, but things were happening. She had seen something in the town earlier in the day that had the folks there anxious, but she couldn't stick around long enough to ask questions. So she had to answer them herself.

Rey watched the tiny screen on the pad with intense curiosity. It was a news station talking about a… company. Or an organization. From off-planet. Foreign visitors were not uncommon, but most species found humans to be entirely uninteresting and predictable. Unless you yourself were a pilot or space traveler or a government worker, you were very unlikely to ever meet someone from off-planet.

Now there were dozens of them, all congregating in Chicago. The girl frowned. She had heard the name before, but had never been there and didn't know where it was. What was even more puzzling was that the vast majority of these visitors were human as well.

It was common knowledge that there was a significant population of humans on the Ares III settlement on Mars and the ties there with Earth were quite strong, but these were not Martian humans. That left the question, where did these humans come from? Were they like Terran humans?

They certainly looked the same. Rey's eyes absorbed the glitchy image of an older woman with a severe expression and a tightly crafted hairstyle to match, but she wasn't from off-planet. At least, the reporter speaking said she wasn't; Rey didn't recognize her, so she couldn't argue. The woman was an ambassador apparently, all decked out in a dark grey, high-collared coat and matching skirt, and she had an assortment of medals pinned at her breast. The screen said she represented the Northwestern Sector, whatever that meant. Behind her were two aides: one human, and the other… Rey squinted at the screen. It was a being from off-planet, that was for sure. It was freakishly tall and covered in well-groomed dark hair all over its body. She wondered why something like that was with a Terran ambassador.

The human was a boy, maybe only a few years older than Rey, with black hair that stood out starkly against his all-white-and-cream ensemble. Everything about him was white, even his skin. His pale hands were clasped behind his back, his chin was held high, but his weight was shifted onto one leg and every so often something would catch his eye and he would have to quickly refocus his attention on the scene in front of him. At one point, the hairy off-planet thing put his massive hand on the boy's shoulder, and he stopped becoming distracted.

Rey smiled to herself. He looked as bored as she would be if it were her up there.

But the focus wasn't on these three. The reporter kept referencing a "Snoke" and the "First Order" and the camera kept panning to an old, feeble man in a wheelchair. For some reason, Rey found him disturbing to look at. He very much resembled a Terran human. Two legs, two arms, a head… but his face. His eyes were small, or maybe his head was large, and it was plagued by grotesque scars. Wherever he was from, it looked like it hadn't been kind to him.

Like the old woman, he was an ambassador from his planet who had come to learn more about their Terran neighbors. It happened from time to time, foreign visitors showing up suddenly; usually they weren't so advanced and were just beginning their galactic studies. That's why people like the old woman had jobs. A little bit of work for a lot of money.

All of this, the politics, was beyond Rey's knowledge or interest. Politicians had never done anything for her, and it looked like they cared more about the things off their own planet than they did about what was already there. But that wasn't a new realization. All she needed to know about them she learned when they rejected the adoption application and sent her out to the desert to die.

" _\- but what is most fascinating is Ambassador Organa's inclusion of her son in her entourage after her sudden decision several years ago to pull him from the public eye."_

Rey narrowed her eyes at the screen again as focus once more shifted to the old woman and the two standing just behind her. The picture drew in close to the boy in white, following his movement through a crowded room of flashing cameras. She didn't see what was so special about him. He looked like a bored teenager.

" _\- despite the arrival of our new guests, most eyes are on young Benjamin Solo, who made a name for himself five years ago and is rumored to be a pupil of the elusive-"_

The girl didn't recognize that name either. Five years ago she had been too young to understand and wasn't paying attention. Something about him piqued her interest though. She liked seeing someone as young as her up there doing important things. Pausing the recording, she pinched her fingers over the boy and enlarged his image; it didn't help with the clarity, but it removed distractions. After a moment of careful study, she decided her initial assessment still held: he didn't seem all that interesting. She wondered how he had "made a name for himself."

Rey started the recording again, but didn't pay particular attention to it. As far as she saw, it was another meeting between the Terran government and a new government. Not so spectacular. She shut the data pad off a few minutes later and got herself ready for bed.

* * *

B.T. October 22, 2151  
Logandale, Moapa Valley, Nevada, U.S.A.

Every pair of eyes was on her as she passed through the antique store, watching her every move like a committee of vultures waiting for a dying rabbit to breathe its last breath. She intentionally kept her hands exposed and movements deliberate to avoid startling anyone, but it infuriated her to do so. She wasn't a criminal. She'd never once done anything to earn this suspicion.

Rey ran her fingers along the spines of the colorful books perched upon a single bookshelf. There weren't many to choose from. With the development of data pads, physical books had gone out of style and many authors exclusively published digital copies, but there were a few who still clung to the tradition. If she couldn't be a pilot, she had decided long ago, she would have become an author and been the sort to print real books on actual paper with actual ink, but that dream was just as far off as the stars.

Exploring the antique shop had become one of her favorite pastimes. There were always interesting things there. Memories of a past life. Some of the things she didn't even recognize, like the big, clunky box that had a bunch of tiny buttons and a shiny black screen, and then there were things that were different, but still obvious, like a type of data pad once called a cellphone. Nothing here worked anymore, so most people bought stuff to decorate their house, but Rey was here for more practical reasons: though some of the technology was old, many of the electronics still had usable parts, and she had become adept at adapting them to suit her needs… and earn a little money.

A camouflaged flashlight caught her eye. Rey gave it a quick shake by her ear, listening for rattling pieces, and deemed it satisfactory. It was unlikely she would find batteries to fit it, but she could still strip it for parts.

"Hey! Rey!" An annoyingly familiar voice called from the end of the aisle.  _Him_.

Rey threw her hand out, stopping Finn from getting any closer.

"Busy," She muttered, but she turned to him anyway. She would rather take a few extra moments to determine what his intentions were before showing him her back.

"I know, I just wanted to say hi."

"You've said it."

Finn frowned and crossed his arms. "You have an attitude."

"Only towards those who shoot bottle rockets at me."

"I didn't do that!"

The girl rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Look, it may not have been your hand that lit it, but you're guilty by association. If you're not careful, you'll probably end up on the receiving end of the rockets when your gang catches you talking to me."

For a second, judging by his suddenly wide eyes, it seemed he hadn't considered that possibility. He pursed his lips and considered bolting, but then he squared his shoulders and shook his head.

"I don't care. I like you. I don't want to hurt you anymore."

"How noble."

Much to her frustration, her coldness didn't deter him. Finn took a step closer and glanced at her latest prize in her hand.

"Hey, what are you going to do with that- uh…?"

"Flashlight," She sighed, "Seriously? It's not  _that_  old."

Finn shrugged. "I don't know. What are you going to do with it?"

"Pull it apart and find out what still works."

"That's cool. Where'd you learn to do that?"

Rey shut her eyes and counted to three. She didn't make small talk. She came to town to get what she needed and then left. Unless there was something major going on, and there never was, she didn't have any need to stick around and didn't  _want_  any need to stick around. Finn could try to make up for his cruelty if he wanted, but Rey had no interest. Ignoring the boy, she went to pay; she had only just started shopping around, but she needed  _out_.

Unfortunately, Finn didn't catch the hint. Instead, he proceeded to chat her ear off, mostly about himself and what he was up to, while he played with some of the antiques on display on the counter. While Rey punched buttons on her data pad to transfer payment, the boy tossed a silver, cylindrical tube with a single switch from hand to hand.

"Hey, you hungry?" He asked.

"I have food at home."

"We can go to my favorite place if you want; they have good beer."

"I'm too young to drink."

Finn gave her a surprised glance over, dropping the silver tube in the process. "Oops!" The tube rolled a few feet before he snatched it up and put it back on the counter. "What do you mean, you're too young? How old are you?"

"Fifteen."

" _What?_ " He gawked at her, "Fifteen? Where are your parents? How do you have money?"

"Gone and I work."

"You live alone?"

"Yes."

Rey took her new flashlight and shoved it in the mesh pouch on the side of her backpack, then hustled out the door of the antique shop. Finn followed like an obedient dog. "That's even more reason to go get something to eat. I'll cover you, don't worry about it."

Finn had to stop short when the girl's finger was once again in his face. "I don't need help," She reminded him bitterly, "Or pity. I'm  _fine_."

"Whoa, okay, easy." He took a step back. "I'm just trying to be nice. I won't pay for you then. Look, it's not far, and the food is good, then you can go back to whatever it is you do."

And that's how Rey found herself gorging herself on a plate of fries and a double cheeseburger with bacon and fried egg and onions and a large chocolate milkshake. As usual, she could feel the judgement staring at her from all sides, but she couldn't remember the last time she had a meal prepared for her. Finn laughed when she belched around a mouthful of ground beef and kept right on eating.

"You're going to make yourself sick if you aren't careful!"

The girl shrugged and wiped grease from her lips on her arm. It didn't matter that her stomach was too small for all this food and that it would likely be evacuated later. It just tasted so  _good_. And, fortunately for Finn, it put her in a much better mood.

"Thanks for suggesting this place," She said with an actual smile, too high on food-induced endorphins to remember to be distant, "It's really good."

"Yea, it's my go-to."

" _\- leaders of the First Order have suggested a meeting of both governments to begin establishing formal diplomatic ties and even proposed a closed-door meeting for the ambassadors and their-"_

Rey looked up at the display projected on the wall above the bar, her attention drawn by the mention of the First Order. Finn took advantage of her distraction to steal a fry.

"Finn," She said, "What's the First Order?"

The boy looked at the display and shrugged. "Another species, I think. They made first contact with us a couple weeks or so ago and are really interested in becoming allies."

"Why?"

He shrugged again. "I don't know. That's what politicians do, I guess."

"Oh." She watched for another few minutes, then, "Who's Benjamin Solo?"

Finn shrugged again. "The son of our ambassador. She's training him up to be the next ambassador, probably, or she was at least. He flipped out a few years back."

Rey frowned in thought. "What do you mean?" She asked, remembering what little she had learned about him from the recording.

"Not really sure," The boy admitted, "I've heard he told his mom to go to hell because he didn't want to be a politician, which makes total sense to me, it sounds like an awful job. Then I heard he got some girl knocked up, so his mom made him stay out of the way because she was embarrassed. The crazies out there also say he's one of those mind-control Jedi folks and he-"

"Jedi?" Rey repeated with a curious head tilt, "What's that?"

"Like I said, looney bin escapees," Finn replied with a laugh, "They think they can control minds and 'feel the force' or something like that. It's really weird."

The girl bit her lip.

"Okay, so… what else do you know about him?"

Finn took a sip of his soda. "Not much, why? You think he's cute?"

Rey arched a brow and rolled her eyes again. "No. I've never seen a kid be a politician."

"Well, for one, he's not really a kid. I think he's in his twenties."

"Oh." Her hopes fell along with her spirit. She hadn't ever wanted to be a politician, but with someone her age in office, she had wondered if maybe she would have someone who would be on her side. "He looks younger."

The boy nodded in agreement. "Yea, I guess so."

Rey wanted to keep asking questions, but it felt like a natural conclusion to the conversation, so she didn't bug him anymore. It sounded like he didn't really know much more than she did anyway. Maybe she could do her own research on him later that night. It felt important for some reason she couldn't identify. All of it did. Benjamin Solo, the First Order, Snoke… the names conjured the feeling of a gust of wind that would kick up a dust storm. But, for now, she wouldn't worry about it. Finn had already moved onto the next topic, and Rey still had half a burger to enjoy.

**IOIOIOI**

Rey swiped through image after image of Benjamin Solo on her data pad that night as she sat by the fire outside her shed. The newest images were all grainy snapshots taken from the meeting she had watched; it seemed he hadn't agreed to any photoshoots after that. There were old ones, though; they were obviously taken at various points in his life: some relatively recent, others from when he was still young enough to be holding his mother's hand.

One feeling pervaded every single picture Rey found: sadness. He wasn't smiling in any of them, and in many he looked like he would rather be anywhere else than in front of a camera. That feeling grew even more apparent the older he became. Perched upon a pedestal between senators and foreign dignitaries like a trophy that no one bothered to shine but put on display anyway, or a turkey among peacocks.

Or, Rey mused with an amused smile, a peacock among turkeys. A trophy among honorable mentions.

"Jedi," She murmured to herself, tasting the new word on her tongue, observing how it exploded between her teeth and turned her lips in a subtle smile. Rey's fingers touched one of the pictures on her screen and, in her imagination, she could feel him touching her back. "Benjamin Solo. Is that what we are?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think!


	3. Sheep in Wolves' Clothing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mostly more introductions in this chapter, but by the end of it all the primary actors will have entered the game and the plot begins to stir. Enjoy!

**.003 Sheep in Wolves’ Clothing**

B.T. November 2, 2151  
Chicago, Illinois, U.S.A.

The man was hideous and malformed. His head was misshapen, like someone had taken a sledgehammer to one side of it and he never bothered with a hospital, assuming there were such things where he was from. His eyes were small and so dark that it seemed light was just swallowed up in them rather than reflecting back out. He couldn’t stand easily, except when there was a chance his voice might be heard, and more than anything he enjoyed that: using the power of his words to influence and get exactly what he wanted. Which, several weeks after he had arrived, was still not entirely clear.

For all these reasons and more, Poe Dameron did not like this foreign visitor from the First Order. Apparently he and his men didn’t even have a planet. They just cruised around in their massive ship and parked it wherever they felt like parking it. That didn’t sound like someone looking for the sheer sake of curiosity. 

Unfortunately, Poe was not in a position to comment on such things, and even if he was no one would listen to him. Poe Dameron was brash and reckless and careless. Sure, there was spirit and intelligence and a strong desire to serve, an impressive set of attributes that would have been valued in most settings, but the welcome state dinner, hosted by Ambassador Leia Organa, was not one of the settings. No, right now, his job was to sit quietly at the far end of the table and shake hands and remember which fork to use for which dish.

Poe Dameron did not sit quietly, and he  _ certainly _ didn’t give a damn which was a salad fork.

A woman from this First Order was seated on his left. Unlike him, she seemed entirely at home here, like every meal on their ship was served like this. Poe watched her delicately ladle an impossibly tiny amount of soup onto her spoon and bring it to her lips. Not a drop was spilt.

Boring.

Poe grabbed his fork in his fist, the knife in the other, and disrupted his neighbors with his elbows as he sawed through a perfectly cooked cut of beef tenderloin. Stuffing an overly large portion into his mouth, he chewed loudly and scanned the far end of the table where the important people sat. Some of the people he recognized. Organa for sure. Not only had he looked up to her since before she was elected, he had made it his life’s goal to serve her and uphold her democratic ideals throughout the galaxy. At her side was her son, Ben Solo, who had initially stolen the limelight when he emerged from the cracks a few weeks ago, but his caretakers had shushed him up before he made any embarrassing missteps. The Wookiee, Chewbacca, was there on her other side, chatting with anyone who could understand him. Poe couldn’t manage a single word with him, but having his big, intimidating presence was frequently advantageous for the aging ambassador. Then there were the other ambassadors from the various sectors on Earth, plus their personal entourage, and the two dozen men and women who had come down to the planet with their “Supreme Leader” Snoke. The title stank of a dictatorship.

Not the sort they ought to be associating with, Poe decided as he once again stared at the grotesque creature hunched over the table, mashing his food with all ten of his yellow teeth. Ambassador Organa would certainly see that.

After another two courses - which Poe, of course, indulged in heavily - and several lengthy speeches of non-commital promises and unofficial extensions of friendship - with which Poe vehemently disagreed - the state dinner finally came to a close, and the massive dining hall echoed with the scraping of chairs on polished wood flooring as people rushed off to stretch their legs and enjoy a more intimate party setting elsewhere. Knowing it would be some time still before he would have his opportunity to speak with the ambassador, Poe stayed put and kept careful watch on who and who did not deign it necessary to ingratiate themselves. It wasn’t until the room was nearly clear did he finally stand.

“Excuse me, Ambassador,” He greeted, coming up behind the woman. She turned and smiled warmly.

“Leia,” She insisted with the familiarity of a friend, “What can I do for you, Poe?” 

Poe tried not to pay attention to the man at her side. Since he had come to Chicago, he and Ben Solo hadn’t exactly been best of friends. Where Poe was outgoing, warm, and quick to laugh, Leia’s son was even quicker to withdraw and intimidate with cool glances and angry words. For a while, Poe had tried to break the man’s icy exterior, but all his efforts were unappreciated, so eventually he stopped wasting his time.

Without a single moment of hesitation, Poe nodded and spoke, “Of course, Leia. I’d like to talk to you about Snoke.” 

“You and everyone else,” Leia joked, but her eyes were tired and smile forced. He continued anyway.

“I don’t know how to say it, but something’s off about him. He’s like… he looks like he’s from an old horror movie or something. I don’t think we should trust him.”

The woman admonished him with a single glance, but he knew it came from a soft place in her heart. That’s how he got this job in the first place. “Quick words of judgment for someone you’ve not yet met,” She said. 

Poe was undeterred. “It’s just a feeling. For all the talking and grandstanding he’s done, he still hasn’t told us what he wants. He wants everyone to know who he is.”

Ben Solo spoke then, and his tone was distant and dismissive, but his attention wasn’t even on the man confronting them. His eyes were instead fixed on his mother. “Coming from a man who also lives for the thrill of shoving his head where it’s not meant to be.” 

Leia lightly placed the back of her hand on her son’s chest; a gentle gesture, but one meant to silence, and it was immediately effective. Ben Solo hooked his fingers behind his back and resumed his rigid posture. Poe was vaguely reminded of a green military man who had just been given his first medal and felt the need to thrust his chest in front of anyone who might happen to look.

“We have not yet agreed to anything,” She assured the young man with the daring to confront her, “Don’t worry yourself. This is all a formality before official discussions open.” 

“But do you really think-” 

“Lieutenant,” Leia interrupted with the edge of a command. Poe ducked his head.

“Of course, Ambassador.” 

The woman’s warm smile returned. “You’ll be informed of any developments relevant to you.” 

Chewing his lip, Poe watched her and her son turn away then, off to attend to their business in high places. He grabbed his wrist behind his back and squeezed. This line of work didn’t suit him. He was meant to be  _ in  _ it, at all times, non-stop, dodging hit after hit,  _ at her side _ . This… waiting shit didn’t cut it. He knew he had so much more to offer her than anyone would allow and it almost  _ certainly _ would be better advice than any her asshole son could give her. He hadn’t gone through years of training to be dressed in fashionable draperies and polished and set alongside the silver spoons and exotic flower displays imported from planets far, far away. He was a strategist and a fighter. Not a pawn.

Especially not Snoke’s pawn. 

**IOIOIOI**

Ben Solo stared at his reflection in the mirror with a critical eye. Dark hair was neatly groomed and tucked just so with not a single fly-away. His eyebrows had been plucked and his pale skin brought to life with just a hint of rouge here and there and something to bring out his eyes for the cameras. His fingers, clenching and unclenching at his sides, were smooth and moisturized, and his nails were trimmed and polished. His clothes, freshly pressed, were the white and grey robes of something he wasn’t and would never be, no matter how insistently everyone told him it would all be alright if only he just  _ tried _ . If only he could change himself to fit the mold of what his Solo-Skywalker heritage demanded of him. A role that never belonged to him and should have died long ago.

“You look good,” Leia Organa told her son as she removed rings and bracelets and earrings from her person, all borrowed from a family friend to make her look more valuable and imposing than she felt. 

Ben’s expression didn’t change. “Am I done playing your showpony yet?” 

“Don’t talk like that, Ben.” 

“It’s all I am to you.” 

The woman sighed and came beside him to put her hand on his arm. Her son brushed her off. 

“Ben-"

“You don’t need to say anything,” He replied in his low, even tone that strangled any sort of emotion he may be feeling. Ben turned to look down on his mother, who he once had to reach up to in order to take her hand. “I know I am an ugly stain on an otherwise perfect record, and when the people start wondering what you’ve done with me, you parade me about like we’re the dream partnership: a mother and son duo, driving the chariot side by side. But you know as well as I do that the partnership never existed because you didn’t want it to. Don’t deny it.”

The pain in her chest, to hear such words from her only beloved son, nearly brought Leia to her knees. A mother loved unconditionally and forever, and while she knew there had been mistakes on her part that had irreversibly fractured their relationship, nothing would ever convince her to stop trying to repair that broken bridge. She had spent a lifetime outsmarting and at times only tolerating those who sought to manipulate her for her money, her power, or her hand, but nothing could compare to the anguish of knowing her son had manipulated his own mind into believing he was unloved. 

“I will deny it until the day I die,” She replied softly, “All of us failed.” 

“No,” He shot back, “You and Han failed. I succeeded in separating myself from your failure. Admit it.”

“I will not, Ben.” 

The man ground his teeth behind tightly pressed lips. “Of course,” He growled, “How can I expect anything from you but lies and denial?”

Leia shut her eyes and shook her head, then continued removing her jewelry and setting it aside. Frustrated, Ben stormed from the room and out into the hallway of the mansion that they had been holed up in ever since the First Order made first contact several weeks ago. The place was worse than a prison. Every morning, servants would come with fresh sheets and vacuum every inch of the carpet and scrub every flat surface until it shined, and then they would go out to the common areas and sweep the floors and dust the chandeliers and plate every single meal with such meticulous attention to detail that nobody could eat until everyone had gushed about the beautiful arrangement of food. 

It was food. Eat the  _ fucking _ food.

The order and the rules and the perfection… everything was as it was supposed to be with no room for variance or personality. Someone like him, like Ben, didn’t fit here. Ben was all chaos and passion and intensity in all that he did, and in a place like this, he drowned alone in a room full of people who had no idea. That’s why distancing himself from anyone who might care about him was so appealing: if he was going to drown, at least he wouldn’t have to stare at the fact that no one cared as he did it. 

His feet carried him unbidden to the freedom of the outdoors, where the cold Chicago air could burn his lungs and rattle some life into him. As the courtyard of the mansion, it wasn’t an absolute escape, but in the distance he could hear the roar of traffic and see the city contaminating the air with light pollution. 

That’s where he belonged: right in the middle of the mess. How he craved it.

There were a few people enjoying the courtyard and all its manicured gardens and pristine fountain. Mostly women, as well as some from the First Order. They all wore the same crisply tailored grey suits, man or woman, with various ranking insignias that Ben didn’t recognize. He wondered if anyone else thought it curious that Snoke and his First Order envoys all attended peaceful introductions and offers of friendship in what looked a hell of a lot like military garb. 

Among those in the courtyard, Ben recognized one: a young man with flaming red hair from the First Order. One of only a few he had spoken to, who also happened to possess a surprising level of intellect and forethought, and exuded the same level of passion for his people as Ben did his desire to have nothing to do with his own. 

That didn’t mean he wanted to have anything to do with him tonight. Unfortunately, the First Order man did not agree.

“Benjamin,” The man called with the confidence of a leader. He raised a hand and beckoned Ben to come, which irked him indescribably so, but he found himself obeying like a child with no other choice. 

“Ben,” He corrected irritably, “No one calls me Benjamin.” 

The man waved his hand again, a dismissive gesture that did not help Ben’s mood. “Ben, I would like to introduce you to my good friend, Phasma.” 

Ben glanced at the woman to whom this man had indicated - and then looked  _ up _ . She wasn’t much taller than he was, but it was enough to momentarily shock him. He towered over most men, and yet here was this woman, looking down at him with icy blue eyes and an expression that said she knew just how imposing she was. He noted how beautiful she was in a non-traditional sort of way. There was softness here and there that alluded to her femininity, like how she stood with her weight on one side and how her throat glittered with dazzling silver gems, the likes of which he had never seen before, but she also exuded strength with otherworldly grace. This was a woman who could pull on a pair of stilettos and slip on a tight-fitted dress that hugged her abundant curves and paint up her face like all good girls should, but then hold her own in a conversation through unmasked intimidation and put any man who thought he could best her in his place. Beautiful brutality. 

Ben smiled. He liked her.

The two shook hands, and her grip was strong. “A pleasure,” Phasma said, her voice light and intelligent with a hint of formality. 

“My pleasure,” Ben insisted, “I did not expect Armitage to have such excellent taste in friends.” 

The redheaded man laughed. An irritatingly nasally sound. “Is this the real you, Solo?” He taunted, “Not so far off from your father, if rumors are to believed. Phasma makes men tremble for all the wrong reasons; turn your attention elsewhere if you want to keep living.” 

Ben had learned long ago to ignore jabs at his father. It was easier that way, though he was a bit surprised that such rumors were floating around in close proximity to his mother and where members of the First Order could hear them. “I’m sure she has her charms,” He said instead.

“Please let me know when you are through speaking to my genitals and are ready to speak to my face,” Phasma retorted, prompting Armitage to laugh his terrible laugh again, but Ben felt a brief sweep of remorse for Phasma and even some empathy. It seemed she suffered in ways he could recognize in himself. He made a mental note to be more careful.

“My apologies,” He offered. Phasma blinked and looked away. Armitage rolled his eyes.

“You speak like your mother,” He criticized with a sneer, “There are no cameras here. Be yourself. The person no one likes.” 

“That seems counterproductive.” 

Armitage scoffed, “But it’s what you want, right? Look at you, dressed up like some… I don’t know, whatever you called it. This isn’t you. Be you.” 

Ben crossed his arms over his chest. “You don’t know me.” 

“No, but I can see what you want, and it isn’t to be something pretty to put on display. You’ve got purpose and passion.” 

Armitage’s words were infuriating because they were the truth. Somehow, the man had seen straight through him and picked apart his brain, searching for every insecurity and desire that he ever had. Part of Ben’s training had included learning to keep people out to avoid situations just like this, but in front of the people of the First Order - or, at least, Armitage Hux - he was an open book begging to be read. 

“I do, and you’re right,” Ben admitted, “But I have a duty to my family.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” Armitage jeered, “You don’t give a damn about your family. You’re meant for greater things than just this, Ben.” 

“What are you suggesting?” He asked to avoid saying that he agreed. 

“I can suggest anything you want. Phasma here,” The redhead jabbed his thumb at the woman, “She came from nothing. She was a savage on a desolate rock in the middle of space. I raised her up to be a warrior. What do you want to be?”

Ben regarded the woman with greater respect, but also greater caution. For a moment they met gazes and it seemed she flashed him the smallest of smiles with the greatest of implications, and he smiled back. Phasma would be a formidable partner. Then Ben said to his new First Order friend, “Feared.” 

And Hux smiled. 

* * *

B.T. December 1, 2151  
Raddus Interplanetary Naval Air Force Base, Nevada, U.S.A.

Everyone said he should be grateful. This is what he wanted. And it was true: he loved the feel of the toggles in his hands, the grips worn down from years of loving use, and how every decision had to be made in the moment when it needed to happen with only experience and guts to guide him. When he was closest to death was when he felt the most alive, but this was not that. This was a mockery. Poe had gone from idiotic pleasantries to glorified showman. 

For  _ Snoke _ and his sniveling bunch of cronies. 

To celebrate the new friendship between the peoples of Earth and the First Order, the best Terran pilots had been called in to put on the most elaborate demonstration of aerial skill for Snoke’s entertainment. Alongside them would be the best pilots of the First Order, no doubt studying every Terran technique that they could later use against them, in what was supposed to be a representation of the birth of new allies. It was bullshit through and through, and not just because Poe was frustrated by his perceived lack of respect from superiors. But here he was anyway, sweltering in the middle of the Nevadan desert with no real purpose. 

“‘Grateful,’” He muttered under his breath as he got comfortable in the seat of his X-wing. A crewmember handed him his helmet, which he pulled roughly onto his head. 

From the corner of his eye, he spotted another crewmember guiding one of those droids beneath the body of his ship. “ _ Hey! _ ” He shouted down at her, “I don’t need one of those.” 

The woman looked up at him in surprise. “Lieutenant Dameron, they’re mandatory.”

“I know,” He shot back, “And I trust myself more than one of those.”

“Lieutenant…” Clearly ranked beneath him, she had no idea what to do with her conflicting orders, and Poe did feel a little bit of regret. In reality, he had no issues with the droids and knew them to be invaluable, but he had a point to prove. Even unassisted, he was  _ better _ than any of these First Order pilots. 

“I’ll take the fall,” He told her. It still didn’t satisfy her because ranking officers could say whatever they pleased, but she nodded once and cleared away from the X-wing.

It was only a practice, Poe reminded himself as one by one the pilots revved their aircraft to life. Practice for a friendly air show. He glanced around at his fellow crewmembers, people with whom he trained and fought alongside, and felt familiar words tease at his lips that he didn’t need to say. Listening for his squad leader to call for check in. Reporting in when his call sign came up. It was all fake. And the First Order was listening in all the while. 

At least the feel of nothing but sky between him and the ground would always be real.

* * *

 

B.T. December 3, 2151   
Logandale, Moapa Valley, Nevada, U.S.A.

“Could you scoot a little bit?”

“Shhh!” 

Finn paused his nagging to glare at the skinny girl tucked beside him. Her eyes were glued to the screen of his data pad and hadn’t moved for at least a good half hour, so his grumpiness went unnoticed, which only made him grumpier

“You know, for someone so small, you sure do take up a lot of space,” He commented, earning himself an elbow to the gut.

“You made me stay here.” 

“Yea, because it’s  _ cold _ at night now and you can’t stay out there alone.”

“I’ve been alone for years out there and it’s been fine.” 

Finn elbowed her back. “Then get out. And give me my data pad.” 

Rey quickly rolled to her side, putting her back to him. “No.”

“Uh-huh.”

The girl ignored him and refocused her attention on the images on the pad. Her own hadn’t been working well after it had an unfortunate encounter with some rocks and a long drop, so whenever she needed to catch up on anything important, she had to go to Finn. It wasn’t the worst arrangement, but it brought her closer to the boy than she initially had preferred and she was still trying to figure out what it meant to have a friend. Apparently it meant staying in his house and sleeping in his bed when his parents were out.

But right now, the pictures were more fascinating than Finn. Black and white ships crisscrossing the desert sky, not so very far from where they were now, like dancers in a ballet. The roar of engines made her heart race. And this was only  _ practice _ . Rey could only imagine what it would be like to see such mastery in person and feel the ground shake beneath her feet. 

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” She whispered to herself, but Finn heard. 

“X-wings?” He asked.

“Any of it. I mean, I knew they were out there, but… a show like this.” 

“Do you want to go? It’s only a few hours away.”

Rey looked over her shoulder at him with a raised brow. “Don’t tease me.” 

“I’m not!” Finn huffed, offended, “I’m serious. Do you want to go?” 

The girl rolled over again and stared longingly at the sleek bodies of the aircrafts returning to the earth. Each landing was flawless. “Sure, if I had money, but the tickets are a fortune, I’m sure.” 

She felt Finn shrug beside her. “I’ll cover you.”

“No.”

“Rey, come on. You can pay me back later.”

“You know how I feel about that.” 

Finn rolled his eyes, knowing she wouldn’t see it. It was sheer stubbornness on her part. “Well, I’m going,” He said, “And I’m buying two tickets. Hopefully I can find someone to go with me so my money isn’t wasted.” 

Ignoring him, Rey bit her lip and hit the replay button on the recording. She’d watched it enough times now to remember most of the names of the pilots who would be flying for Earth: Nodin Chavdri, Iolo Arana, Karé Kun, Tallissan Lintra, C’ai Threnalli, L’ulo L’ampar, and Poe Dameron - the one who flew without the assistance of a droid. 

Maybe a little debt to Finn would be worth meeting the people who did for a living what she could only do in her dreams. 

  
  



	4. Red, Grey, and Blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this one. I got back from my overseas work a week ago and the jetlag is murder. 
> 
> I’m working on a spotify playlist with my inspiration as I write. It’s all light acoustic and ambiance, but as things pick up it’ll probably evolve. Have a listen! https://tinyurl.com/afterthethaw

**.004 Red, Grey, and Blue**

B.T. December 15, 2151  
Indian Springs, Nevada, U.S.A.

Rey admired the rise and fall of her hand outside the window of the car as they rushed down the highway at a speed she couldn’t recall ever travelling before. Aerodynamics was the simple explanation for this phenomenon, of course, but simple was boring. Instead, she imagined she was in the cockpit of a plane, riding the currents of the wind, lifting and dragging her wings like that of a bird. And then there was the blazing heat of the sun, warming her skin from the safe interior of an air-conditioned vehicle, and the “classic rock” and “hip hop” on the radio that had Finn beating his hands on the steering wheel, and the coolness of the windshield where Rey had pressed her bare feet.

She hadn’t felt this kind of freedom before. Her whole life was one endless moment of being alone to make her own decisions, but this freedom was different. This was the exhilarating type that made her heart race and think about what it would be like to spend summers with her best friends, laughing and having fun and doing the stupid things that teenagers do to make memories they would look back on when they were old and had grandchildren sitting at their feet.

The girl slid her sunglasses up onto her head and smiled lazily at her friend. Catching her out of the corner of his eye, Finn grinned.

“What?” He chuckled.

“Hm, nothing. Just happy.”

“Well, good. You should be,” Finn replied, immensely pleased that _he_ was the one to be giving her such pleasure, “I told you it would be worth it.”

Rey laughed, “Yea, well, we’re still driving. The show could be a bust.”

“I seriously doubt that.”

The pair fell into companionable silence again. Their destination was not even two hours from Finn’s home in Logandale, but he had arranged to take a long weekend off work, so they made time for a pit stop in the chaos of Vegas for lunch, then stopped at a couple scenic areas along the way to take pictures of red sandstone and deep gorges. Like old friends, they posed together in front of Finn’s data pad, and in one photo that they both promised they would hang in their homes, Rey leaned in to kiss his cheek and Finn couldn’t help but laugh.

It was early evening when they parked the car in front of a no-frills motel outside Indian Springs and secured their room keys. Rey made a dash for the room first and threw herself onto one of the beds, leaving her friend to manage the luggage left in the car. It wasn’t as soft as Finn’s bed, but it was worlds better than her own, and that’s where she resolved to stay for the remainder of the day.

At least, until Finn recommended going out to find some food. Before running into Finn, Rey hadn’t given skipping a meal here and there a second thought, but now three meals a day almost felt like a necessity. Having more regular access to food meant she was getting stronger, building more muscle, and thus in need of more fuel. It made her anxious at times, to feel this much hunger, but Finn was proving to be supportive and loyal and honest. Something she never thought she would need.

The pair settled on a restaurant and bar not too far from the airfield, hoping to catch glimpse of one or two of the pilots who would be flying tomorrow. After they had placed their orders, Rey once again snatched the data pad and clicked through to the article that listed the names of the Terran flying aces and their First Order counterparts.

Finn rolled his eyes, but smiled warmly as he teased, “You’re obsessed.”

“It’s why we’re here, isn’t it?” Rey shot back, embarrassed. He had to understand that this was her only opportunity to meet these people. She had to know all of them and everything about them. She couldn’t waste a single second here.

Their drinks arrived first, and as Finn sipped at his, he took a moment to study his friend. “Why don’t you join the military?” He suggested, “That’s the best way to get your wings fast.”

Rey shook her head. “I can’t.”

“How come?”

“They could station me elsewhere. I can’t leave Moapa.”

Finn frowned. “Why not? There’s nothing holding you there.”

“Because,” The girl replied with a bit more sharpness than he was used to hearing from her, “I just can’t.”

“Oh.” It was odd. Rey had never told him about any family there or any ties at all. In fact, he didn’t even know how she wound up there. “Okay then. You’ve still got a couple years anyway.”

She nodded, but it didn’t seem she was actually listening. The data pad had more interesting stories to tell than Finn could imagine up. Leaving Moapa would never be an option, no matter how desperately she wanted to fly.

The food arrived shortly after their drinks and the pair had an enjoyable time chatting with each other and the other people milling about the restaurant. Many were in town for the air show as well, so Rey especially enjoyed listening to them - not really talking herself, to be honest - and it satisfied some of the itch that brought her here in the first place, but no one she had hoped to see ever did show up. It shouldn’t have been too surprising. They were likely all at the base, looking to drill their routine one last time, and didn’t have time for common people things.

Discouraged, Rey agreed to return to their motel, and after a few more hours of fooling around, they settled in for the night. Even as she lay there in the dark, listening to Finn’s less than gentle snoring, her eyes greedily ate up any tidbit of information about the pilots that she didn’t somehow already know. Of all of them, she was most excited to meet Poe Dameron, and not just because he was the most handsome: he was also the youngest of the group, but from the images and video clips she could find, he was apparently the most reckless, as evidenced by his decision to fly without droid assistance. A man so filled with self-confidence that he dared to do what others had deemed too dangerous was a man she had to meet.

**IOIOIOI**

The girl awoke the next morning not to the sounds of an alarm or Finn rousing her from sleep, but to the red-hot pain of what felt like a fire poker on the inside of her skull. Groaning, Rey kneaded the muscles in her neck with her fingers, attempting fruitlessly to alleviate the tension. Eyes still unfocused, she threw her blanket off and made to swing her feet to the floor, but as she did so the rolling waves of nausea forced her onto her back again. She laid there, squeezing her eyes shut and gasping for breath that was suddenly difficult to find.

“Finn…” She mumbled pathetically, not knowing what else to do, but his snores easily overpowered the weakness of her voice.

This wasn’t normal. This wasn’t just some headache. Somehow she knew it, though she couldn’t explain how and she didn’t know why. This… this was something else.

With a deep breath, she cried out again, “Finn!”

The boy in the other bed jerked awake and sat up, blinking the sleep from his eyes. “Rey…?” He asked, “What’s…?”

“I’m sick,” She said, “I must have… eaten something…”

Finn got himself out of bed and crawled up beside his friend. Frowning, he pressed the back of his hand to her forehead. “You feel okay… what’s wrong?”

“My head feels like it’s going to explode and when I tried to get up, my stomach threatened to make me revisit dinner…”

“Okay, okay, just…” Finn was a good friend and fiercely loyal, but he wasn’t a nurse by any means. Rey depending on him did nothing but stress him out. “Okay… I’ll get you a glass of water, how’s that sound? And I’ll get you some painkillers. Then you should try to get more sleep, that always helps.”

Tamping down his rising concern, Finn brought her a small cup of water from the tap in the bathroom and managed to dig up a couple painkillers from a forgotten pouch in his duffel bag, and once Rey had gotten it all down he laid down beside her and held her close. Rey curled her fingers around his and held them to her chest, where he could feel the fluttering of her pulse just under her skin. Having her friend so close helped to calm her, and it was entirely possible that it was his presence, not just the medicine, that gradually dulled the pain in her head. Relieved, she was able to return to sleep, and Finn maintained his vigil.

**IOIOIOI**

Later that day, after the pain and nausea of the morning was already long forgotten, Rey found herself marveling at the glory that was a tornado potato. A simple concept, the tornado potato, but legitimately the invention of a genius: a potato speared through with a stick and cut into a spiral, then fried in oil and dashed with salt, paprika, and garlic. It was the ultimate of festival foods. Not that she had had much experience with festivals or the types of food sold there, but the deliciousness of her tornado potato instilled within her the confidence to declare this was indeed the Food of Foods. Each bite was slow, careful, and savored, all to be sure that not a moment nor morsel was wasted.

The Terran and First Order ambassadors had apparently spared no expense in the planning of the festival, and not just in their choice of food truck snacks. Deciding that a display of master airmanship was not enough to celebrate the new friendship between Earth and the First Order, they had arranged vendors selling model ships, iron-on patches of airman insignias, posters of the participating pilots, and various other paraphernalia for which visitors would gladly hand over far more money than anything was actually worth. An X-wing had also been rolled out into the center of the grounds, protected by a few officers and a rope barrier, so visitors could crowd around and attempt to get a quick photo through the throng of people, as well as the smaller, less streamlined ship that the First Order referred to as a TIE fighter. Then there were the pilot meet-and-greets after the show, in which only those who had purchased “VIP” tickets were allowed to participate, but for those who couldn’t afford it there would be an hour long Q&A panel later that evening.

One of the more exciting events, however - aside from the show itself - was the raffle for a posed photograph inside an X-wing, which Rey made a beeline for the moment they had discovered it listed in the festival map. Finn had to hustle to keep up with her enthusiasm.

“Would you wait up?” He called as he watched her weave and duck through the crowd. Rey, of course, ignored him, too involved in her excitement to care what he had to say right then. Eventually she found the tent where a few service workers were selling tickets to all of her competition. Finn caught up to her a few moments later and opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off behind he had the chance.

“They’re expensive,” She commented, mostly to herself, “Two dollars a ticket.”

Finn quickly caught his breath and replied, “Yea, well, it doesn’t really matter. If you had taken a second to read the fine print on the map, you’d know you have to be eighteen to enter.”

“ _What_?” Rey gaped at him, “Why? It’s just sitting in the cockpit.”

“I don’t know,” He replied with a defensive shrug, “I didn’t make the rules.”

The girl chewed her lip. At fifteen years old, she was certain that she already had far more life experience and hardship than any of the people here. She fended for herself for years, accomplishing so much more with what little she had than anyone would expect from someone her age. The number of years she had been alive shouldn’t matter.

“I don’t care,” She decided and stepped forward to join the line, “This is too important.”

Finn stepped up alongside her and touched her shoulder. “You’re just wasting your money, Rey. Even if you somehow won, they wouldn’t let you do it when they find out.”

“ _If_ they find out.”

The boy didn’t like that. Deception wasn’t a part of the Rey he knew. In the grand scheme of things, lying about her age to get a photo in an X-wing wasn’t the worst thing in the world, but it did speak of what else could be lurking beneath her fair smile and laughing eyes, and it unsettled him. But for now he let it go. With all these people here, it was unlikely she would win anyway.

Shortly after their exchange, Rey left the tent with five raffle tickets in hand and a reminder to check back at the end of the day for the winner.

It was just past midday, right after they had finished lunch and were searching for a comfortable spot from which to watch the air show, when Rey’s headache and nausea returned with a vengeance. Without warning, she cried out in pain and sank to the ground, clutching at the sides of her skull.

“Rey!” FInn cried in alarm as he crouched beside her, “What’s wrong?”

“It’s… it’s back… Finn, I think I’m-”

Finn grimaced and looked away as the girl began to retch, but he still had the decency to hold her hair back as she emptied the contents of her stomach on the ground. Those around them gave the pair a wide berth, more afraid of becoming ill themselves than helping a young girl. Once the vomiting ceased, at least for the time being, Finn stroked her back and suggested, “How about we find the medical tent? I’m sure they’ve got one here somewhere.”

Rey shook her head stubbornly. “No… we came all this way to watch the air show. I can’t miss it.”

:You’re obviously sick. You need a doctor.”

“I’ve taken care of myself my whole life without a doctor and I don’t need… need…”

The crowd around them gasped when the retching began anew and finally they seemed to care. Despite her protestations, an older man left to fetch the medical staff on site while Finn watched over her, and before long she was laying on a cot in a tent, clutching a bucket to her chest in anticipation of the next wave. Heat stroke, they decided, based on Finn’s explanation of her sudden unwellness, and they would have strung her up with an IV if she hadn’t been so adamantly opposed. This wasn’t heat stroke. Rey didn’t _get_ heat stroke. This was in response to something else, something she couldn’t identify, like the throbbing in her head was not a physical ailment but the response to something external. That attempt at an explanation, however, only further confirmed the doctor’s assessment that she needed rest and rehydration.

As Rey laid there, alone while Finn tried to find her some cool drinks, she listened to the sound of wings tearing through the air over her head and the cheering and applause of the crowd as the pilots flirted with the sky and the clouds with the familiar comfort of old lovers. When she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine what they must look like: a blur of silver against blue, spinning and weaving, using the same skills to dazzle the crowd that they would to defend their homeworld. Poetry in motion.

Tears stung her eyes and she wiped them away bitterly with the balls of her hands. Rey didn’t get heat stroke, and she _definitely_ didn’t cry. Not over something as stupid and pointless as-

A commotion at the entrance of the medical tent interrupted her thoughts. Sitting up, Rey tried to peer through the entryway, where several nurses were negotiating sternly with a man who, either in his state of confusion or inebriation, very much did not seem to agree with the idea of negotiating anything. Her stomach threatened to revolt again, so she laid back down, but the man brought the show to her when he stumbled into the patient area, disheveled from scuffed boots to curly, dark hair, and then she recognized the standard orange and white suit of a Terran pilot.

“Get off me!” The man demanded, tearing his arm free from the grip of a nurse, “I’m _not_ drunk, I’m _pissed_!”

That answered that question, Rey thought to herself as she watched the spectacle. Once again he tried to make a break for it, but the nurses had more experience containing unwilling patients than he had evading them.

“Sir, you need to _sit down_. Multiple guest reports suggest that you are indeed inebriated, and your behavior does nothing to convince me otherwise.”

He continued arguing anyway. “I’m supposed to be _flying_ right now, you realize that? I didn’t even want to fly in this damn show, but if I have no choice, I’ll fly the hell out of it and… and… they replaced me with _him_ , can you believe that?”

“Sit down please, sir.”

The man backed up against a cot and stumbled over it. Rey pursed her lips, unimpressed.

The pilot continued to argue even as the nurses left him there, but now that he was down his body seemed to hop into the front seat and do what was best for him: sit down and keep out of trouble. Over the rim of her bucket, Rey watched him slowly come to terms with his orders. With a choice curse, the man hung his head in his hands and twisted his fingers in his hair.

These weren’t exactly the circumstances Rey had been hoping for when she met her first pilot. Pilots were heroes, not combative drunks. They defended their home from galactic threats, sacrificing their right to a normal life so that others may make the most of their own. They were noble and honest and kind and… not this. Not rundown, the lowest of the low, disgraced. Since she was a child, she had wanted to be a pilot but was realistic enough to know she would never have the opportunity, so meeting a pilot and learning from them would have to be the next best thing. And the world handed her this one.

Rey couldn’t help her disappointment. Frustrated, she blurted out, “Why would you do that right before you’re supposed to fly a ship?”

The man glanced at her with a tired and equally frustrated stare. “I’m sorry, what?” He retorted.

“You’re drunk,” She accused, “It’s obvious.”

“Uh huh. And a kid would know what a drunk looks like.”

“I’m not a kid, and I do.” And she meant it. She stopped being a kid almost ten years ago. She knew and saw more than anyone her age should have. The law might have said she was a child, but the law had never cared about her to begin with, so she set her own.

The pilot ignored her and instead got up to pace. Rey watched him with narrowed eyes.

“You know, I looked up to you,” She said with resentment, “I’ve always wanted to be like you.”

“No, you don’t,” He scoffed, “If you were like me, you’d be shafted left and right because you don’t ‘follow protocol’ and ‘don’t respect the privilege’ to fly for that shriveled First Order monster who is infiltrating our ranks right before our eyes, but no one besides me has the courage the question it.”

That shook her and the confidence that she knew what she was talking about. Politics honestly wasn’t her strongest area, lacking regular access to at least a reliable data pad; her knowledge of events related to the First Order was limited: they had made contact a couple months ago, a formal friendship had been established, and now they were holding this airshow to celebrate it. That didn’t seem so bad.

“You’re supposed to follow protocol,” Rey eventually replied, but her tone was now more hesitant, “Without protocol, there’s no order.”

“Now you sound like them,” The pilot shot right back, and she knew it was meant to be an insult. She frowned.

“Why don’t you like the First Order? We’re allies.”

The man stopped and turned to face her as he spoke, apparently more interested in her now that he had an audience for his speculation. “On the surface, sure, but we can only know for sure what we see, and for everyone who has an opinion that matters, that’s good enough. It’s nowhere _near_ good enough for me. I’ve watched my friends die, lost everything in the fight to protect my homeworld, and I may not have the social finesse of a politician or the wisdom of a scholar, but I do know one thing: everyone wants something, regardless of who they are or where they come from, and I’ve seen enough of ‘everyone’ to know that what most want above all else is leverage to get more of something else.

“Now, Snoke and his First Order. They all live aboard their vessels, so maybe they want a planet to call home, but they don’t. No one builds up a fleet like theirs - which is massive, by the way - to abandon it for some land. Nearly all of their ships have military capability, so they don’t need protection either, and to maintain such an operation would require extreme wealth. That’s a possibility there, that they want our financial assistance or trade. Make friends, then beg for help, but _why_ ? It would be infinitely cheaper to settle somewhere. _Why_ do they insist on roaming the galaxy in their military vessels, parking their fleet outside a peaceful planet for some talks and a quick bite to eat?”

Rey knew exactly why, or she thought she did, but she didn’t want to say it. These were the sorts of things she avoided. She was a girl in a desert who fixed up old antiques for some cash. Galactic politics and warmongering and drunk Terran pilots were so far out of her league and she had not shame in admitting it.

When she didn’t answer, the pilot did for her: “ _Harvesting_ , kid. They’re looking for a planet to harvest. Use the people as slaves or target practice, mine it dry, and then move onto the next one. There are entire factions dedicated to exactly that - I’ve seen the aftermath firsthand - and now we’ve got one shaking hands with our ambassadors.”

The nausea returned, but for a different reason.

“You don’t know any of this for sure,” She insisted, “You’re drunk and you’re guessing.”

He sighed in aggravation and combed his fingers through his hair again. “I’m _not_ drunk. They just don’t want me to fly.”

“Because you don’t follow protocol.”

The man glared at her. “Alright, yes, fine. I flew without a droid. Big deal. We’ve flown thousands of times without them just fine and-”

“You’re Poe Dameron?”

Rey sat up quickly, for the moment forgetting her illness in the presence of the pilot she might have maybe become a little obsessed with leading up to the airshow, even if she hadn’t immediately recognized him. Poe didn’t seem particularly impressed that she knew his name.

“You see? You know me, the guy who flew without a droid; they’ll report that as long as people keep eating it up, but they won’t say anything about the harvesters learning all the ins-and-outs of our government.”        

Awestruck, Rey didn’t immediately respond. This was _Poe Dameron_. Ace pilot of the Terran Naval Air Force. The son of heroes and the child of the skies. Reckless and cocky, he had made a name for himself by rising through the ranks at an unprecedented rate for someone so young with reflexes so fast that they bordered on inhuman. What the press and photos didn’t capture, however, was the fire and passion burning in his dark eyes, warming his skin with a golden glow. Or the strength of his square jaw, roughened by a day’s shadow, or his full, pale lips. Dark, curly hair was ruffled now from his fingers, but the habit was understandable: it was tantalizingly touchable.

Rey could almost forgive him for being an arrogant, drunk ass.

“That’s because you’ve actually done something wrong,” She replied, continuing their conversation, “The First Order hasn’t.”

Poe rolled his eyes and fell back onto one of the cots. “Alright, sure, fine. I don’t know why I’m bothering with a teenager.”

“You’re not really far removed from one.”

The man shot her a look. “Excuse me?”

“You know a person is still a teenager when they’re so determined to remove themselves from the label.”

“I don’t think twenty-five counts as a teenager anymore.”

Rey shut her mouth. The sources she had been reading had placed him much younger. The twinge of disappointment in her chest didn’t go unnoticed. Poe also fell silent and stared at the top of the medical tent, stewing in his frustration as he listened to the sounds of his fellow pilots tearing up the sky and the applause that followed. He could almost see every twist and turn of the routine by the way the engines roared and waned and how enthusiastically the audience responded. As much as he had loathed the idea of the show in the first place, his body had been buzzing with the anticipation of the stick between his hands. Shutting his eyes, he tried to imagine himself up there, above the sky where the stars were, and how he could travel to any of them on a whim in search of adventure.

Suddenly Poe was startled out of his daydreaming by the girl retching off the side of her cot into a bucket. He curled his upper lip and showed his teeth in sympathetic revulsion.

“Sorry you’re not feeling well,” He offered once she had stopped. Hopping up from the cot, he found a roll of paper towels and offered them to her to wipe her mouth.

“I feel fine,” She insisted, earning herself a dubious lift of a brow, “They say I have heat stroke, but I know I don’t. I don’t know what this is.”

“Sounds like the nurses here have a habit of holding healthy people against their will then.”

With tears of exertion clinging to her lashes, Rey glanced at the pilot and laughed when he flashed her a grin. “Yea, I guess so. I’m Rey, by the way.”

“Good to meet you, Rey. I’m Poe.”

“Yea, I know.”

* * *

B.T. December 17, 2151  
Indian Springs, Nevada, U.S.A.

The white, wispy curtains were thrown open without ceremony, allowing painfully bright sunlight to flood into the room and cast unflattering shadows over the face of the man in bed. He groaned and rolled onto his stomach, burying his eyes in the pillows so overly stuffed that his neck was stiff.

“ _Up_ , Solo, you’ve got work to do.” Armitage Hux said with snide laughter, then ripped the blankets from the bed, revealing the naked body beneath. He laughed again, obviously expecting outrage or embarrassment, but Ben only kept up his stubborn refusal to wake up. “Hey,” Armitage said, a bit more sternly, even going to far as to slap the man’s ass, “Up. You’re going to be late.”

“Don’t hit me,” Ben grumbled into the mattress, which was good enough for Armitage.

“You need to be down at the base in an hour for some publicity stunts with your mother. Your people just _love_ you, Ben Solo, after the way you flew yesterday.”

“They love the idea of me.”

“Yes, well, that’s the way it goes with every celebrity. If only they knew what your mother was actually like…”

Ben tensed. “Don’t talk about my mother.”

Armitage laughed, “Oh, are you still sensitive about her? After all she’s done to you?”

“She’s still my mother.”

“And your weakness. You need to let go.”

Irritated and sore, Ben pushed himself out of bed finally and strode across the room to his suitcase on the floor. “I’m up,” He said, digging for a clean set of clothes, “Get out.”

Armitage bowed in mockery, but actually left him alone to prepare himself for the day, for which Ben was grateful. Once the door to his hotel room had clicked shut, he crouched down in the middle of his room and squeezed his temples between his hands, taking pleasure in the pressure that temporarily relieved the throbbing pain that had seeped even into his dreams that night. The headache had started as he was getting ready for bed the night before, so he had taken some medication and went to sleep, only to be awoken a few hours later by pain so sharp that he had rushed to the bathroom, certain he would vomit from the intensity, and afterwards spent most of the night curled up on a bathmat. Nothing could soothe it: he tried a cold shower and a hot shower, a double dose of pain medication, and even attempted to utilize his mediocre healing abilities learned during his training. Finally, when he was reasonably confident he wouldn’t actually be throwing up, he had returned to bed and only managed to fall asleep a mere forty five minutes before Armitage had come to rouse him.

“What is this?” He gasped. He couldn’t function like this. He couldn’t perform in front of people who only knew him as the family disappointment who did magic tricks, while the voice in his head whispered his superiority over the common folk and hissed his inferiority among giants. Keeping his eyes open and focused was a challenge in itself, and now he had to go pretend he was the perfect son his mother wanted him to be. Again. In front of _cameras._

Duty called, as it always did. Head spinning, Ben grabbed a set of dark grey robes from the floor.

**IOIOIOI**

Armitage had been correct: it was absolutely a publicity stunt.

Ben stood beside his mother, who in turn stood beside Lieutenant Poe Dameron, in front of a new black X-wing prototype, never flown before. He might have stopped to admire the fine engineering if he hadn’t wanted out of this so bad. Across the way was Snoke in his wheelchair, which Ben knew he didn’t truly need, and supported by General Armitage Hux and Captain Phasma in front of one of their First Order TIE fighters. Ben didn’t appreciate their design as much; it was brutal and angry in its harsh lines, and they screamed as they butchered the air.

And in front of all that stood reporters and their flashing cameras, shouting questions about the new alliance and the Jedi pilot and Dameron’s snub and what was next for Earth and the First Order. The answers were, of course, vague and noncommittal. The Jedi pilot would go back into hiding, Dameron would again rise as the golden ray of Terran pride, and the Terran government would someday visit the First Order fleet on a state visit, but the whens and hows would be decided upon later.

None of that mattered. The headache, too severe for him to care about making nice, didn’t matter. Ben squinted his eyes against the sunlight and squeezed his hands behind his back to take his mind off the pain, but it was nothing compared to the tingling hyperawareness tapping his vertebrae like water trickling down the tiers of a fountain. It was both new and familiar, welcome and disconcerting, because it was a feeling he longed for and feared in his isolation: the tentative tendrils of his Force abilities reaching out and finding something touching back.

His mind wasn’t there in the moment. It was too busy searching every face for any sign of recognition that didn’t come from a news article. He would know it when he found them, he told himself, almost desperate for this unexpected kindred spirit. There were so few of them, people like him, that he suddenly felt vulnerable as he stood there, so clear and obvious to his mysterious counterpart, while he had nothing of them but a murmured suggestion.

It wasn’t until after the questions ran dry and the high and mighties had put in their time in the spotlight did he see her.

She was young in face and her smiles came easily and free, and the glow around her was refreshingly grey. Not dark like his, but still darker than that of other sensitives he had met. All of them were blindingly light, casting him in even greater shadow than he already was, but he could look at this girl and not recoil. She carried nightmares on her shoulders like he did, but she carried them as part of herself rather than as excess weight. She owned them. Ben Solo did not, which he would only admit in his darkest moments, instead choosing to throw them on someone else because they _wronged_ him. Bad things happened to Ben Solo and he drowned. Bad things happened to this girl and she wove them in alongside the good, like black and white wool in a blanket.

And he loved her. Not romantically or sexually, but because she was the lighthouse to his capsizing ship. He wanted to hold her up as the standard to which he aspired. He wanted her to know his name so that he could know hers. He wanted to ask her if she could feel him like he could feel her, so spectacularly exceptional in a sea of unexceptional people.

If only she wasn’t _fucking_ fawning over _fucking_ Poe Dameron.

Ben swept his hair from his eyes and tried to ignore the sprouting seed of envy. If she was as sensitive as he was - and he suspected she was, even if she didn’t realize it yet - she would be able to feel that ugly, green wave crashing against the insides of his skull.

A pair of pink fingers snapped in front of his eyes. He startled, then glared at Armitage.

“Stop treating me like a dog,” Ben muttered. The redhead waved his hand dismissively.

“You’re acting like one,” He retorted with a twisted smile, “You’re drooling over Dameron’s girl. I didn’t realize you two liked them so young. She barely even has tits.”

Ben almost lost his already lose grip on his temper, but Phasma spoke before he could. “You’re as much a blind man as you are an idiot,” She said curtly to Armitage, whose lips thinned in response to the insults. Phasma continued, “Ben Solo looks at the girl not with lust, but with admiration; an imperceivable difference to you, I understand.”

Armitage scoffed, obviously displeased with being sided against by his closest compatriot and conspirator. Ben didn’t smile, but he was comforted to know he had an ally.

“Should I arrange a quiet little dinner for you then?” The man ridiculed.

Ben had to admit to himself that the offer was tempting so that he could talk to her without the influence of certain people around, but the idea of Armitage setting it up was revolting.

“No,” He said, shaking his head, “She’s a child. Poe can take the fall for that one.”

Armitage laughed as he always did and Ben pretended he didn’t care, but he could feel Phasma’s eyes on him. Over the past several months, even though they didn’t often see each other when the redhead wasn’t also there, Ben had come to find solace in the quiet support of the woman who seemed to need just as much support in return. His initial impression of her - that she was strong and cruel when necessary, and that was often - hadn’t changed, but there was a silent agreement between them: protect me from Hux, and I’ll protect you in return.

It hurt more to walk away from the girl whose name he didn’t know, like there was a tenuous line stretched between them, a bond forged by the Force, that wouldn’t be severed by their distance, but it would be strained and raw until that distance could be closed. He hoped she didn’t feel it as strongly as he did so that she would be spared the pain, but Ben was selfish in his loneliness. If she felt it, too, she would be drawn to find him just as he was drawn to find her, and maybe he would have a chance at feeling whole and balanced.

* * *

B.T. December 18, 2151  
Las Vegas, Nevada, U.S.A.

Finn kept a close, sympathetic eye on his friend who had been almost silent during the drive from Indian Springs to Vegas. The airshow hadn’t been everything she had hoped it to be, he knew. Due to her sudden illness, which fortunately had improved significantly since they had set out for home that morning, Rey had missed the very reason for their coming all the way out here, and on top of that the money she had spent on raffle tickets went wasted. Truth be told, however, Finn was grateful for that; the winner of the raffle got to have their picture taken with Ben Solo of all people, who had substituted for Poe Dameron in the show. A grab for brownie points, no doubt. Still, by the distant look on Rey’s face, Finn knew she was struggling to cope.

So distracted in his own disappointment on her behalf, he didn’t even realize she was talking to him until she placed a gentle hand on his arm.

“Hmm? Sorry,” He said, quickly rearranging his face into a smile.

“Can we stop to get me a new data pad?”

Finn looked at her with surprise. “A data pad? Sure… yours not working?”

“I mean, it got beat up when I dropped it and it was already on its last leg.”

“Oh, okay. No problem.”

**IOIOIOI**

How she was able to afford a new data pad, Finn had no idea. She had some money stashed away, sure, but he had come to learn that she went beyond frugal and never bought anything that she didn’t absolutely depend on. The pad she had selected was an old model, sure, but there were the set-up fees and then she wanted one enabled with holo-messaging and… to be honest, he was a little suspicious how she planned on paying for this. But she did, and as she returned to his side with the biggest grin he’d seen on her face all weekend, she showed off her shiny new data pad and Finn decided it didn’t much matter, as long as she was happy.

**IOIOIOI**

Bright orange embers turned white and then black as they escaped the hungry teeth of a flame, disappearing like ghosts in the night. The fire wasn’t especially large or warm, but it gave Rey enough light to wrap herself in her heavy blanket and play with the new data pad in her hands. It was small, only slightly larger than her palm, but it was silver and sleek and slid easily in her hands. The corners were rounded and protected with black rubber, but there wasn’t much protection against sand, so she would have to be careful. Smiling, she admired her reflection in the smooth screen, then placed her thumb over the sensor to bring it to life. It made a pleasant sound, like a wind chime. The soft blue glow illuminated the shadows on her face, dispelling the red-orange cast of the fire.

It wasn’t much more complicated than her old one, so she easily navigated to the calling feature and inputted Finn’s number. She sent him a quick message:

_Rey: Get this?_

A few moments later:

_FInn: Yup, welcome to the world!_

Rey smiled, closed the window, and keyed in another number. She stared at the name it was associated with, chewing her lip in anxious thought, then sent a message before she could think her way out of it.

_Rey: Get this? It’s Rey._

Several minutes passed and no response. The girl drew her blanket closer around herself and waited until the screen went black. It was late, she reminded herself, disallowing the disappointment to creep in. It had been a long weekend.

The data pad beeped. Rey pressed her thumb to the sensor.

_Poe: hey there. didn’t think you’d still be up_


	5. Rain in a Desert

**.005 Rain in a Desert**

B.T. March 2, 2152  
Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada

_ New Message _

Poe’s finger froze over the text of a file on his data pad and his eyes darted to the little notification at the top left corner of the screen. He was in the middle of a meeting. Ambassador Organa was there, alongside the ambassadors from the three other Terran regions: Lanever Villecham, Tai-Lin Garr, and Erudo Ro-Kiintor. Beside his mother, for some reason, was Ben Solo, who had suddenly taken a revived interest in politics, or at least pretended to have done so. Then there were a dozen other people like Poe. All aides to the ambassadors, and then there were the aides to the aides. Asses in seats, he thought of them, taking notes while the big deals struck deals and made laws. This was important. He knew it was important.

_ New Message _

So was this. With a furtive glance up towards Leia, he highlighted the notification and watched it expand into a larger screen that covered up the notes he had been taking. 

_ Rey: What are you doing? _

Poe bit the inside of his cheek and tapped out a quick response.

_ Poe: meeting _

He minimized the screen and refocused. As much as he hated just sitting around and deliberating over a course of action that, in his opinion, required no deliberation, Poe recognized that there was actually some critical information here that would likely bounce down to him. And he had significant interest in how exactly that information would be bouncing and where it would be bouncing him off to. Finally, for once, now that they were away from the creatures who were attempting to infiltrate his home, the people whose opinions mattered actually dared to discuss what exactly the First Order’s intentions were.

Though it was less a discussion and more a stubborn digging in of heels on all sides. Poe rubbed his eyes and tried to keep track of it all. 

Villecham, an off-world foreigner who had made his home on Earth, linked his fingers over his rotund body and leaned back into his creaking chair. “The First Order,” He declared in his soft, yet commanding, tone, “poses no threat to us. As long as they obey the Galactic Accord - and there is no evidence of them having violated the Accord - an alliance between their organization and Terra is the most logical course of action and, indeed, even beneficial.” 

Poe’s hackles rose. He took another glance at Leia and found her expression tense as well.

“The First Order is a military organization,” Leia countered, “We advocate for galactic peace. We must consider the possibility that their goals are militaristic in nature. If our concerns are unfounded, all the better.” 

Erudo smirked, “Words of war coming from a populist. Do you miss your old fame, Ambassador Organa?” 

“The only words of war here are the ones you speak,” She replied, unriled by the man’s accusation, “I have no desire to return to the old ways, which is why I call for an intervention now. At the absolute least, we need to learn more about them. My people have been scouring the archives for anything about the First Order and have agreed upon two possibilities: either the First Order is so new that they have yet to make a name for themselves, or they’ve been around long enough to know how to keep their tracks from showing up. From what we have all seen of their technological capabilities, I find the former of those options to be unlikely.”

Despite the gravity of the conversation, Poe smiled to himself. His insistence that she delve further into the mystery of the First Order had, apparently, paid off.

_ New Message _

A notification appeared on his data pad. Poe eyed Leia again, then opened the message.

_ Rey: I’m going to bed soon. I’m with Finn. _

He responded.

_ Poe: can we talk later? _

_ Rey: ok _

Poe smoothed back his hair and stared at their exchange. Part of him wished he hadn’t given her his number. His focus plummeted to that of a thirteen-year-old boy with way too much energy whenever he saw a message or photo or missed call from her. She was  _ way _ more interesting than listening to this, but only because he already knew Leia would make happen what needed to happen. She always did. 

_ Poe: happy birthday, by the way. _

_ Rey: Thanks. It even rained for a few minutes. _

_ Poe: good, i was worried i mailed it too late to get there in time _

“Lieutenant Dameron, would you like to share with us what has captivated your attention?” 

Suddenly aware of the massive grin on his face, Poe snapped to attention and wiped it away. It was Ambassador Villecham who had spoken, but all eyes in the room were on him. Leia regarded him with irritated disappointment, for which he was ashamed, but worse than that was the cool gaze of Ben Solo. There wasn’t disappointment or irritation like his mother, but something more unsettling: he knew  _ precisely  _ what Poe had been up to.

Shaking the odd feeling off, Poe did what Poe does: take advantage of a strategic position. 

“I would,” He said, straightening his posture, “I am in full support of Ambassador Organa’s recommendation for an intervention. I would nominate myself to lead an inquiry into First Order motives.”

Lanever made a displeased sound and looked at Leia like he expected her to keep him in check. Somebody coughed. 

Tai-Lin was the first to break the silence by softening the words Poe had just thrown at everybody like an inexperienced cub on his first hunt. “Leia,” He said with a kind, sympathetic smile, “I hear your concerns. I agree that looking at the First Order in greater detail is a wise course of action. No harm has ever come from learning more.”

“Thank you,” She said, returning his smile, but it was forced. She knew he was only trying to appease her, and her lieutenant only made her case that much more challenging.

It would only become more so.

“Ambassador Organa,” Her son said, and it was unclear to everyone who turned to look at him whether his speaking at all was a greater surprise than the formality with which he referred to his own mother, “If there is to be an inquiry, I would nominate myself to co-lead it alongside Lieutenant Dameron.” 

“Ben…” 

Poe studied the man across the table with newfound interest and suspicion. It was not a secret that they butted heads on nearly every occasion they were placed in the same room, but the pilot liked the idea of a challenge and Ben Solo posed the biggest one he had faced. At least, one that he couldn’t blow up in an X-wing. 

“No one is nominating anyone for any inquiry,” Lanever cut in with an aggravated frown, “That is for the Senate to decide, of which we are only a small part. Any action will require a majority vote.” 

His decision was met with silence, but the tension and the satisfaction and the disagreement were palpable and stifling. Poe sat back in his chair and drummed his fingers on the table. 

The meeting adjourned only a half hour later with the promise of returning the next day to develop a formal action plan, which didn’t realistically have much hope of becoming anything bigger than just that. Poe waited behind, expecting Leia would be stalling to berate him for speaking out of line, but she apparently was just as exhausted as everyone else and left without saying a word to him. Satisfied with that outcome, the pilot rose from his chair.

Ben Solo was waiting for him just outside the door to the conference room they had been sitting in  _ for seven hours _ . Poe gave him a polite nod as he passed by, but stopped short when he caught the look in his eyes. That same one when Poe had been called out for his distraction.

Damn it.

“I appreciate your support in there,” Poe said, extending his hand for a shake, so that Ben didn’t have the pleasure of the first word, “I look forward to working with you.” 

“No, you don’t.” 

Poe clapped him on the shoulder. “Nah, you’re right.” 

“In the future, you might consider keeping your private conversations outside of security meetings. Organa is struggling as it is without you further tarnishing her reputation.” 

The pilot stiffened at the criticism. He wasn’t  _ wrong _ , but Poe didn’t handle admonishment well, and especially not from Ben Solo. The pilot crossed his arms and widened his stance. “And maybe you should consider keeping your wizard mind-reading powers away from me.” 

“I don’t need the Force to tell me you were flirting with your girlfriend.” 

Poe’s initial reaction was to respond defensively. Rey wasn’t his girlfriend, technically, because long distance relationships were hard enough without also being a pilot in an interplanetary navy, and she also hadn’t specifically said she wanted to be. He suspected there might be someone else, possibly her friend Finn, that she was interested in, because in one breath she would say she missed him and then in the next one would divert away from any suggestion that they should try seeing each other more often. He chalked it up to her being a little on the inexperienced side.

Poe’s second reaction was to dig at Leia’s quiet, skinny son.

“I’m sorry, what?” He said with a taunting smile, “Is Ben Solo… jealous?”

“Get your head out of your ass, Dameron.” 

“I think that’s a yes.” 

The two men, both full of pride and arrogance, stared each other down, waiting for any sign of weakness or discomfort that would mark victory in their battle of stubborn wills. Neither of them cared to admit out loud that their reasons for doing so were pointless. 

“A no, actually,” Ben replied coolly, “And if I were envious, it would not be for your teenage girlfriend.” 

Poe opened his mouth, then closed it again and frowned. He had hardly told anyone about Rey, and she had just turned twenty, which was maybe a little young for him, but five years wasn’t that significant a gap, and… how did Ben Solo know any of that? 

He didn’t have a chance to get his answers. Seizing the victory of the last word, Ben turned and left the pilot to wonder.

**IOIOIOI**

The soft, white glow of the data pad illuminated Poe’s face and softened the strong angles of his jaw and cheeks. Fresh from the shower, water dripped from the tips of his hair, which he didn’t care enough to dry. As he sat hunched over the faux-granite countertop in his hotel room, silver dog tags clinked together, stark against the bare panes of his chest, as they swung back and forth from his neck. The air conditioning was white noise behind the quiet murmuring and gentle laughs he shared with a girl miles away. She had to speak quietly and she kept reminding him to do the same because she was in Finn’s bed and he was asleep, but really Poe was hardly doing any of the talking. She would ask questions and he would answer, then go back to studying the curves of her face and how the bridge of her nose would crinkle whenever he said something funny. 

“Tell me about the rain,” He suggested after a brief lull in conversation, during which he liked to look directly into the center camera in the data pad and smile at her until she rolled her eyes and looked away, flustered by his silent flirtation. 

Rey smiled and replied, “It was very nice. There weren’t any clouds; it just started raining suddenly and I went outside to stand in it, but it was gone before I was wet really. It was a good gift, thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Poe chuckled, “I do have an actual gift for you.”

She seemed genuinely surprised. “Really? What is it?”

“I can’t tell you. You have to come get it.”

“I can’t go to Canada,” Rey replied with a frown, and Poe got the feeling that her disappointment came more from his suggestion to visit him than an inability to get to Vancouver. Like she expected him to understand by now that they wouldn’t be meeting anytime soon. 

Probing for the root of her hesitation, Poe said, “Well, I mean, I’ll be home in a few days, so you would only have to go to Chicago.” 

“I… still can’t afford that.”

Finances was a legitimate reason that he was inclined to believe. There wasn’t a lot of work to be found in the middle of a desert. Determined, he then offered, “I’ll bring the gift to you then.” 

“Poe…”

The way she said his name, he understood there was more at play here than money, but he was more concerned than anything else. Perhaps it was Finn - she was in his bed, after all - or perhaps he was coming on too strong for her. It didn’t feel like it. He hardly did anything more than smile in a way that just reminded her of his interest. She had seemed more interested in him when they met than he had been in her, to be honest, and really only considered the possibility when he caught her cues. Or maybe she hadn’t been interested then at all and he was wrong… 

Never one to sit and speculate on the what ifs, Poe asked, “Do you not want to meet up?” 

Rey’s lips opened and closed a couple times, which was disappointing. A yes would have been an easy answer. But he waited patiently for her to decide on her words.

“Poe,” She said again, her voice so soft he naturally leaned forward to hear her better, “I do want to see you again. I’m just afraid.”

That was normal. That was natural. That could be fixed.

“That’s okay,” He said encouragingly, “We don’t have to meet right now. We can keep talking until you’re ready.” 

Rey smiled and nodded, though she was clearly still uneasy, so he let it go and changed the conversation. Grinning, he said, “You nearly got me in trouble earlier, you know. Everyone caught me paying attention to you and not the meeting.” 

The girl laughed softly, rolling onto her side as she did so, so that pieces of her dark hair fell over her face. “How is that my fault? You could have ignored me.” 

“Not possible,” He teased, and she made the usual shy smile and averted her eyes. 

“You need to try harder,” She replied, and again he got the impression there was something else there, like she actually meant it. “What was it about?” 

Poe’s boyish humor sobered as he recalled the events of the day. None of it he wanted to think about right now, when he was talking to a pretty girl late at night, alone, and partially naked in his hotel room. He wanted to flirt and laugh and talk about her, not politics and how impossibly frustrating it all was because there was nothing he could do at this moment to solve any of it. 

“The First Order,” He said, a bit distantly now that his mind was reflecting on the associated stress, “I was able to convince Leia that they at least warrant a deeper look, so she and the other top guys were arguing about it.” 

“Why would there be an argument? From what you said, it seems obvious.” 

“Yea, I know,” Poe sighed as he rubbed his thumb over his browline, “Ben Solo and I are supposed to be leading an inquiry now, assuming they can all get on the same page.” 

Rey responded with surprised silence. Ben Solo… she remembered seeing him many months ago in recordings when the First Order made first contact, and feeling like there was something shared between them. He was rumored to be a Jedi, or at least in training to become one, which made him strong and valiant. Of course, other darker rumors were floating around him as well. After a moment, the girl remembered to shut her mouth, especially when Poe started studying her with new interest. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked, already curious. She shook her head.

“I didn’t realize you were familiar with Benjamin Solo.” 

Poe sighed loudly. Politics had been bad, but talking about Ben Solo was beyond worse.

“Yea, he’s recently come out of the cracks to help his mother more. It’s all for publicity. He’s only involved in the inquiry so that his face will show up on more screens while he’s doing something not detrimental to society.” 

Rey frowned and noted, “You don’t sound like you like him.”

“He can be an ass. I tried a long time ago to get to know him, but he’s not a people person. Or an any kind of person, really.”

“Oh…” She seemed disappointed, which did not go unnoticed. Poe pursed his lips thoughtfully. 

“I mean, he probably has some redeeming qualities… I didn’t realize you liked him. He was at the airshow, too.” 

“Oh. I didn’t know that.”

“Yea. Tell you what, when you come to Chicago, I’ll introduce you and you can decide if I’m right about him.”

Rey grinned at him and chuckled, swelling his chest with satisfaction. He liked amusing her. It wasn’t hard; she seemed to like his brand of humor, or at least did a really good job convincing him that she did. 

They fell into comfortable silence again, which Poe enjoyed. It gave him time to look at her and make her squirm with nothing but his eyes. Even though their relationship was limited to the occasional video call and messaging, he liked seeing where he could push, to see if meeting again in person was even worth it. Sometimes he wondered if she was only interested in him for his name, but then sometimes she would look at him the way he looked at her and it renewed his certainty in his assessment of her behavior. There was undeniable attraction, even if it was surface level only, and he wanted to explore it while they still had the safety of screen and a handful of miles between them. 

The feeling was apparently not reciprocated, at least this evening. Rey yawned and smiled sleepily at him. “I do need to get to sleep at some point.” 

“Oh, sure,” He replied, sitting up straight, “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. You should get to sleep, too.”

Poe wasn’t going to sleep anytime soon, but he nodded. “Sure. Will I talk to you tomorrow?” 

“If you want, yea.” 

The noncommittal response was discouraging, but he smiled for her to show his enthusiasm. “Looking forward to it. Happy twentieth! Welcome to the next decade.” 

Rey opened her mouth to speak, but closed it before any words could escape. Smiling faintly, the girl nodded, and disconnected.

Poe stared at his reflection in the black screen of his data pad, cradled lightly in his hands. Poe was many things - brash, a loaded gun, living in the moment without thought to what tomorrow might bring - but dense was not one of them. As much as he may run his mouth in places and to people he shouldn’t, he didn’t get to where he was by being an idiot. He took risks, but they were calculated risks, and he spoke out of place, but only within earshot of those friendly enough to turn his thoughts into their actions. Poe was no politician and he couldn’t argue theory or tell someone when a treaty was signed and where, but he was a military strategist who excelled on the ability to sight read the turning pages of the enemy playbook second by second and come out on top every single time. 

But he didn’t need any of that to know that something was wrong here. Nerves were one thing, but Rey was  _ hiding _ something, which made for just the best foundation of a budding romance. He wanted to address it before anything could move forward. 

Perhaps when they talked tomorrow he would bring it up.

* * *

B.T. March 7, 2152  
Off Planet

Hooks and eyes were sleek, but inefficient. They created the perfect seam from chin to hip, silver against black wool, but his fingers were too large and unskilled to manipulate them. Fine tasks such as this were against his nature. He was built to use force and power and energy, which did not lend itself well to clasping such  _ stupid, idiotic-  _

“Let me.” 

Equally large but far more elegant hands brushed his aside and easily moved from clasp to clasp, tugging just a bit to pull the fabric in place. Ben watched with sullen eyes and an irritated pout. 

“I’m not cut out for this.”

“You’re a politician’s son. This is all you’re cut out for.”

The man looked up at the steely blue eyes of the woman who was his quiet ally and unspoken defender. “That hurt.”

“The path you are embarking upon will hurt far more.” 

Ben watched her fingers again and lifted his chin to allow her better access to the hooks that rose so high on his throat that they threatened to strangle him. When she finished, he smoothed his hands down the perfect line that split open below his navel.

“Is it the right path?” He asked.

The woman took the thick, leather belt from the unused bed and wrapped it around his waist, just over his hips. 

“I don’t know the answer to that question.” She replied.

Finished dressing but for his boots, he turned to look at himself in the mirror. Long sleeves to the swell of his thumbs, woven in thick canvas. Heavy wool tunic that flared at his thighs and closed tight in a mandarin collar. Sleek, well-fitted pants that shined with a resin sheen. Dark hair, freshly trimmed and carefully swept away from his eyes in managed waves. All black. His face and his hands were white in comparison, and his lips bright red.

“Was it the right path for you?” Ben asked next. 

The woman came to stand behind him, staring at her reflection. Her tunic was of a similar make, but cut to accentuate curves and show that there was a woman’s body beneath the fabric, and it was all white with flashes of silver thread. She had no belt, but rather a black and red sash that was pinned to her left shoulder, held in place with a simple circular brooch so polished that it gleamed like chrome, and draped over her breast around her body in a loop. Ben thought it made her look like a pageant girl, but he was wise enough to not say so.

Shoulder to shoulder, she answered, “It was.” 

They met each other’s eyes in the mirror, and the energy between them was that of fire and ice: different and at odds, the antithesis of one another, but together they were that which creates energy and breathes life.

“Do you regret it?” He wondered. 

Phasma touched the brooch at her shoulder. It was engraved with the rays of the emblem of the First Order. The gears of a machine.

“Before the First Order, I was a savage woman on a savage planet. After the First Order, I was still a savage woman from a savage planet, but now I have a blaster and someone telling me when and on whom to use it, and sometimes I use it when I feel like it because I can. I don’t see what there is to regret.”

Ben didn’t understand what she was getting at or how it answered his question. She was describing a prison. She had ultimate freedom to do what she willed, but then she gave it up to be a First Order captain. That was fitting and molding to a slot someone else made for her, not one of her own design.

“I don’t want someone telling me what to do,” He told her. 

That was all he had ever had. Leia. Han. Luke. Shuffled around in a deck of cards and discarded hand after hand. A joker among kings and queens. All of them he was expected to bow to and acquiesce until he was who they needed him to be in one moment or the next. Wear the mask of a prince in one room and the mask of a Jedi in another. He cut his hair, weaved it into a braid, and wore the costumes and danced the dance. No one wanted to see what was beneath the mask and the robes. They knew what it would look like without seeing it, because his shadow was scary enough and it was easier to pretend his face wasn’t there than to look and realize he wasn’t the monster they thought him to be.

“Then your path will hurt indeed.”

**IOIOIOI**

Fingers crawling and grasping and digging for things they had no right to explore without even touching him. They spread him open, laying him bare and naked, violating the only place a man could feel safe. They saw everything, but worst of all they say the fractured confidence and sense of self-worth that haunted every decision he had ever made. And the aching  _ need _ . Beneath it all- the anger and the hate- there was a boy who needed to be told he was accepted for his darkness, loved for it and not in spite of it.

The ancient creature with the mutilated face touched his twisted hand to Ben Solo’s shoulder. From his knees, the man looked up, his skin slick with sweat.

“I love you,” The creature whose name was Snoke said. Ben could see the manipulation curling his cracked lips. He knew it wasn’t real. 

But it felt good. 


	6. Oppress the Oppressors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a short one, but Ben-centric for the most part! Also marks a shift in the story. Enjoy!

**.006 Oppress the Oppressors  
  
**

B.T. April 4, 2152  
Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada

Ben dreamt of her that night. 

She was tall and lithe, maybe even skinny. Pale, soft, and beautifully naked. It made him stop, his conscious memory throwing up some kind of question mark that his unconscious self couldn’t unravel, and it almost brought the dream to an abrupt end, but something about the curves of her hips and breasts and how her cheekbones were so sharply angled prevented derailment. Ben watched her as she turned her back to him and waded out into a restless grey sea. 

A crisp breeze, sharp with the tang of salt, made him shiver, and suddenly Ben realized he, too, was naked. His toes flexed in smooth black and grey pebbles, and white foam washed up to his ankles. He didn’t feel shame or embarrassment. This felt… normal.

Ben’s voice rose, ready to call out to the girl, but the sound caught in his throat. His dreams knew her name just as well as he did in reality. 

That didn’t seem to matter. As if sensing his confusion, the girl turned again and smiled at him, extending a hand in invitation. With an unexpected sense of excitement and anticipation, Ben took one step forward, then another, until the sea lapped at his knees and he stood before her, only a foot away, and she was like a watercolor brought to life with the ocean’s mist. Dark lips against light skin, curved in a smile, and her eyes shone with mirth and joy. Her breasts were small and round, soft and white. 

“I’m glad you came,” She said to him, though her voice was like an echo carried from a great distance. 

“Who are you?” He asked, craving a name by which to call her. 

The girl didn’t immediately answer. Instead, she offered her hand again. Ben looked at her long fingers. He felt apprehensive, but accepted the invitation anyway. 

The chill of the ocean was made ever more apparent by the warmth of her skin on his. Ben felt his breath leave his lungs, stolen away by the whistling wind. Their eyes met, cheeks flushed from cold or exhilaration or both, and he knew he never wanted to leave this dream. Before it had been utterly absent, but now he could feel the whispers of the Force brushing against their nude bodies, and then their physical connection transcended the confines of an unconscious materialization and they looked upon each other in wonder, fear, and uncertainty. 

The girl’s lips pressed together, searching for a name that wouldn’t come. 

“Ben,” He said, solving her puzzle in the hope that she would solve his. “Who are you?” 

“I’m… Rey…” She replied, an easy sound that carried above the crashing waves despite her hesitation. “Is this a dream?” 

Smiling, Ben squeezed her hand in reassurance. “Maybe? It doesn’t feel like one.” 

Rey looked at their hands, and then his body, as if noticing for the first time their mutual state of undress. His broad chest was firm and smooth, but she did not allow herself to look further, instead turning her eyes up and tensing her jaw out of embarrassment.

“Do you have something you could put on?” She asked, flustered. 

“I… didn’t choose this.” 

“Neither did I.” 

Ben kept cool as her mood shifted, uncomfortable in her vulnerability. “Do you know me?” He asked her in an attempt to keep her mind distracted. 

Nodding, she replied, “I saw you in a recording. Do you… know me?” 

“Yes,” He said, “And no. I saw you at the air show a few months ago, but we didn’t meet.” 

“Oh.” Rey dared to meet his eyes again, this time wary. “Why are you dreaming of me?” 

“I don’t know.” 

Neither knew what to do next. They both looked at their joined hands, wondering what would happen if their contact were to break. If they would forget one another or if the dream would end. Ben found neither possibility appealing. He had known since he had laid eyes on her months ago that they were meant to be together, or at the very least he was meant to be with her, and now he had her in whatever this was. It felt too real to be a dream. It felt bigger. 

“Do you know where we are?” He asked, taking a moment to observe their surroundings. It was nowhere he had been before, but in his mind he would have placed it as the northwestern coast. It was harsh and cold and bitter, but beautiful and untamed. 

Rey shook her head. “I have no idea… I’ve never seen so much blue before.” 

“I would call it steel grey,” Ben replied. Rey reassessed and shrugged.

Curious, Ben loosened his hold on her and lightly slid his fingers across her palm and up her own fingers until just their fingertips touched. Nothing happened, so he let his hand fall back to his side, assured that she wouldn’t vanish into the spray of the sea. The connection remained strong, but not as close. Rey noticeably relaxed, feeling the change as well.

“Now what?” She asked.

He shook his head. “I don’t know. I think the Force has brought us here, together. It must want something.”

Rey frowned and cast him a dubious look. “The Force? What’s that?” 

Ben stared at her in surprise. Even at the distance from which he had watched her in the desert, he had felt the Force moving strongly around and through her, as though she were the very vessel from which the Force manifested. Even here, in this waking dream, he could feel it twisting between them. She was undeniably born from it, and her destiny was intimately tied to its often muddled workings, yet… she had no idea. 

“The Force is everything,” He explained, feeling the ignition of a spark in his heart, “It’s what gives you life and strength and… and  _ purpose _ . It’s your blood, boiling hot. It moves us, drives us, with unending passion. It’s-”

“Is this the Jedi stuff people say you believe in?” 

Ben’s fervor froze in his veins.  _ Jedi. _ A label he would never escape, no matter how far he ran in waking or in sleep. A desert girl who had never met him, who couldn’t even see what she was, who didn’t know his  _ name _ … knew the word Jedi. His temper rose.

“ _ No _ ,” He spat at her, shocking her enough with his sudden shift in tone to make her take a step back, “Never a Jedi.” 

The air became colder and whipped the girl’s long hair across her face. The sky, once grey, darkened with the threat of an angry storm. The sea grew turbulent and made their footing in the shallows unstable. The boy within Ben, alone and insecure and  _ hateful _ , retreated further inward. 

And then the girl within Rey, alone and insecure and  _ afraid _ , was gone.

* * *

B.T. April 5, 2152  
Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada

_ … Through strength I gain power. Through power I gain victory. _

“Through strength I gain power. Through power I gain victory.” 

_ Through victory my chains are broken. The Force shall free me. _

“Through victory my chains are broken. The Force shall free me.” 

_ And what is the lesson here? _

“The Sith failed as much as the Jedi. The Force will not free me; I shall free myself, and the Force shall be the weapon with which I will oppress my oppressors. The chains are the easy part. It’s what goes on, in here, that’s hard.” 

The voice didn’t respond. Ben Solo opened his eyes.

It was cold. He flexed his hands, resting upon his knees as he sat cross-legged on the stone floor of his terrace. They were stiff from having been clenched so long. Rain patted on the tall boughs of the dense tree canopy and eventually found their way to his skin, chilling him to the bone. He inhaled deeply, and the air was fresh in his lungs.

Ben rose to his feet and shook off the aches of his meditation, which could only focus his energy so far. There was too much to restrain, no matter how much his mother or uncle said otherwise. To let it out was dangerous. To keep it in was more so. 

Returning into the comfort of his room, Ben took up a silver hilt from the desk beside his bed and carried it outside into the rain. The metal was an extension of his body. He could feel every ridge and every indentation as he squeezed it in his hand. A switch flipped upwards with the barest movement of his thumb.

The lightsaber thrummed to life, its blade a bright blue in the quiet, dim hours before sunrise, and it hissed in the rain. Ben turned his wrist, spinning the saber in slow circles. Careful, practiced, and deliberate motions, perfectly balanced in foot and hand, as he imagined his combatant in his mind’s eye. An upward cut here, then a straight jab in front, and circling his wrist again to catch the hilt in a reverse grip behind his back. Then he closed his stance and let the saber rest out to the side. He took another deep breath.

_ Jedi _ .

The word flashed across his mind in the voice of the girl from the desert. Mockery. A  _ taunt. _

Ben’s anger spiked again, like it had in the dream. With a two handed grip on the hilt, he lifted the lightsaber until it was level with his eyes so he could stare down the blade into the eyes of his enemies. His feet spread into an aggressive, wide stance. 

_ Jedi. Jedi. Jedi. _

Desperate rage tore through him and he whipped the saber wildly, cutting the air and the rain in a vicious blur of blue. His heart pounded the blood through him in a torrent of emotion - fear, loss, pain, a bitter need to be  _ needed _ . His muscles protested against the violent motions, burning like the fire that fueled him, but still he would not relent, because stopping meant the fire would die out and there would be nothing left to keep him alive.

In his hands, the hilt shuddered, stressed by the abuse, and a spark of pale blue fell from the emitter.

_ JEDI. _

“Ben?”

Fury ripped a scream from his lungs, but turned to searing, red-hot pain. Overburdened, the glowing blade destabilized and lashed out at his hands like electricity, forcing him to fling the weapon aside. There it lay on the grass, hissing and spitting as the crystal within fought to rebalance itself.

Grimacing, Ben whipped around and seethed to see his mother there, standing in his doorway, still dressed in her nightgown. She took one step back, afraid in the presence of such unprovoked hostility.

“ _ What _ ?” He snapped at her, fists curling at his sides.

“I… saw you practicing and thought I would watch.”

“You  _ disrupted _ me!”

“Your lightsaber, Ben…”

Both turned to look at where it had fallen, but by then it had calmed and once again glowed a steady blue. It wasn’t until he deactivated it a moment later that he noticed the heat burns on the silver metal.

* * *

B.T. April 7, 2152  
Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada

There was a box of doughnuts on the conference table. A dozen assorted. There was the classic glazed, then some with a chocolate drizzle, and sour cream and chocolate cake. One was shaped like a rabbit’s face and a couple more like decorated Easter eggs. Then there were the “gourmet” doughnuts: caramel drizzle with espresso flavored custard inside. There was even a pair of hot black coffees, no cream or sugar. 

And Poe Dameron had not touched any of it.

Ben watched the pilot from the corner of his eye as he shuffled through some documents on his data pad. He absolutely  _ reeked _ of sorrow and uncertainty. The Force stumbled over him, pressuring him from all sides like the fingers of a masseuse working the aching knots of an athlete. It was distracting and irritating, and Ben wanted nothing to do with whatever was causing his depression. So he kept his focus on his work, occasionally sipping at his coffee.

For a while, it seemed like that would be enough. Aside from this ridiculous inquiry, he and Poe never spoke or interacted if they could help it, so naturally, whatever it was on his mind, Poe would not want to discuss it with Ben. Then the uncertainty in Poe’s little cloud of angst resolved, to be replaced with fierce determination. Ben tensed his shoulders in response.

“Hey,” Poe said, setting his own data pad down on the table. Utterly uninterested, Ben only gave him a cursory glance and pressed his lips together in a feigned smile of greeting. 

Seconds ticked by.

“ _ Hey _ ,” Poe said again, more forcefully this time, and Ben did him the courtesy of actually looking at him for longer than a heartbeat. Knowing that was all he was likely to get, the pilot continued, “We need to talk.” 

Ben took a sip of his coffee to buy himself time, then replied, “Do we?” 

“Yes.”

“No, I think we’ve made such great progress these few weeks precisely because we have not talked.” 

Poe hit his fist on the table. Not hard, just to get the attention he wanted, but it rippled Ben’s coffee.  _ Disturbed _ his morning routine.

“Yea, and that’s probably why we’re having this problem.” 

Ben continued poking at his data pad. “I see no problem.” 

“Right, see, that’s just it.” Poe reached over and tore the data pad from Ben’s hands, which clenched reflexively, just as they did when anything at all pissed him the hell off. “You’re an asshole. Why do you like being an asshole?”

“From the man who just stole my property.”

Growling in frustration, Poe ran his hand roughly down his face and scratched in irritation at the stubble there that he hadn’t bothered to shave off this morning. This wasn’t on him, he knew it. Sure, he wasn’t always the easiest to work with - he was always sure of himself, and when something didn’t go right, it was because someone else screwed up somewhere - but Ben actually went out of his way to make things difficult for the sake of ruining someone’s day.

Poe slid the data pad across the table. “I’ve done nothing to you, alright? Grow up. You don’t have to like me, but you do have to work with me, for the sake of our planet.”

Ben regarded him cooly, ignoring the pad that had come to rest just at the edge of the table. He shouldn’t have to work with him at all, he wanted to say. He knew better than anyone else that the First Order meant no harm. It was him they cared about, not Earth.

“Alright,” He said with venom as he leaned back into his chair, “Talk.” 

Satisfied, Poe nodded and leaned forward. He was so  _ blindly _ confident in himself, it was infuriating….

“Right. It’s about Rey. My girlfriend.” 

That  _ almost  _ caught Ben off guard. Now that he mentioned it, the anxiety he had been leaking into the room did also carry the faint trace of too much testosterone with nowhere to go, which meant Ben especially did not want to be having this conversation. 

“We’re working,” He reminded the pilot sternly, “And this has nothing to do with me.”  _ And _ he didn’t want to think about that dream from a few nights ago. “Don’t you have other friends you can talk to?”

Poe linked his fingers on the table. “Actually, it does have something to do with you,” He said with the acidic dripping of accusation. “She left me.” 

Shaking his head, Ben grabbed his data pad and resumed scouring a document that honestly had nothing to do with the inquiry. “Good. She was illegal.”

“She was twenty years old!” 

“I wouldn’t put her a day over fourteen.” 

Poe opened his mouth to argue, then wisely shut it. Ben stared at him again, this time more thoroughly in his study because Poe was smart. He was an idiot, but he had a brain, and Ben couldn’t believe he would be so naive as to let a little girl with a cute face trick him into thinking she was years older than she actually was. And if she had, what did that say about her? 

“Did you… not know?” He asked, skeptical even as he said it, but the shame and horror that suddenly came pouring out of Poe was so overwhelming that it almost blurred with his own emotions and he knew it was true.

“I… She… how do you even know her?”

“I saw you talking to her last October.” 

“And that was enough for you to know she was a kid?”

“Um…” Ben gave him an incredulous frown, “Yes, actually.” 

Poe had the humility to look embarrassed. That would certainly explain a lot, though it opened up almost just as many questions. First,  _ why?  _ And second, perhaps even more important, was  _ how had he not noticed?  _ Truthfully, he knew the answer, but it was an unflattering one, so he pushed it to the back of his mind to inevitably dwell on later. She had lied to him and actively worked to hide it even as she led him on… the embarrassment was joined by anger. 

“So consider it a good thing,” Ben continued, sensing the boiling emotions. His own, deep inside him, began to stir and growl like a caged animal who had just caught the scent of his dinner, in response to the familiar feelings. “Besides, I’m sure you have no shortage of women pining after you.” 

“... What makes you say that?”

Ben glanced up at Poe’s genuinely confused expression and took his own turn coping with embarrassment. The other younger women with whom they worked loved Poe and hated him. He was raven-haired, smooth-talking, flying-ace Poe Dameron. And Ben was… Leia’s estranged son. 

“I assumed,” He mumbled into his coffee.

Poe was intensely curious. It was even starting to show on his face in the shape of a faintly crooked smile. “I know some,” He admitted slyly, “Want me to set you up?”

Shocking himself, Ben took two seconds instead of zero to answer with a firm, “No.” Not that he wasn’t interested in women. He liked women just as much as Poe did. He just didn’t care enough to bother attempting to win anyone’s affection. 

The pilot laughed, mood already improved. The matter wasn’t resolved, of course. If Ben was right, that Rey had lied to him about her age, they were in for a serious discussion about exactly  _ how much shit _ he would have been in if anyone had found out.  _ Especially _ Ambassador Leia. But for now, his heart was at ease, and he finally tucked into one of the chocolate covered doughnuts, which was immensely pleasing to Ben because it meant, for now, he had successfully avoided having to explain to Poe exactly how “involved” he and Rey had been. 

* * *

B.T. April 8, 2152  
Moapa Valley, Nevada, U.S.A.

“You  _ lied _ to me!” 

“Poe, wait, I-” 

“No.  _ You  _ wait.” 

Rey’s thumb hovered over the call button on her data pad, which was already beginning to show its wear after only a few months. He wasn’t  _ listening _ to her. He had sent her a message, saying he had something urgent, and the moment she called him he started on his tirade without giving her a second to speak. She understood that his anger was justified, but if he would stop for just  _ one second. _

“I don’t think you understand what you did,” He accused bitterly, talking over any attempt she made to explain herself. “You lied to me about your age. You said you were nineteen. Do you realize how  _ fucked _ I could have been - still could be! - if someone found out?” 

Angry and embarrassed, Rey replied, “That’s why I didn’t let anything happen!” 

“Oh, but you see, Rey,  _ that doesn’t matter. _ My commanding officer would still have my ass court-martialed so fast. My career would be over, and I’d be stuck with ‘pedophile’ next to my name for the rest of my life!”

Rey closed her mouth and shut down, lost as to what to do and unwilling to listen, but only because it was the easiest way to avoid the guilt. He was right. In her desperation to belong somewhere and to be accepted as something more than an orphaned girl in the middle of a desert, she’d lost sight of her moral compass and lost herself in the dark. This wasn’t her.

“Poe, I’m sorry,” She finally said through a throat tight with impending emotion, “You’re right, I was wrong.”

That didn’t make him feel any better, but at least he stopped yelling.

“How old are you really?” He asked next, praying that she wasn’t as young as Ben had guessed.

“Sixteen.” 

“Good to know girls are as stupid as boys at that age,” Poe spat out, shaking his head in disgust. “Delete all our conversations and any photos I sent you, then delete my number. Don’t call me again.” 

The screen went black. Rey’s hands trembled from the spike of adrenaline their argument had roused. Furious and ashamed and indignant, she flung the data pad aside and it lodged itself in the sand.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Looking forward to hearing your thoughts.


End file.
